


An Almighty Thud :: Part One

by patria_mori



Series: Unicorn [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Community: paperlegends, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 61,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patria_mori/pseuds/patria_mori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Uther Pendragon first fell ill over a year ago, no one really took notice. He still arrived at work earlier than the secretaries. He still fired employees on a near weekly basis. Then he blacked out during a quarterly review and Arthur found himself the head of a multi-billion dollar business. The more Arthur uncovered as he righted his father's affairs, the more he began to realise that his father wasn't the man he thought he was, and that his enemies were far more numerous than he had expected.</p><p>Murder and corporate coverups had never been something for which Arthur was well prepared.</p><p>And Merlin - Merlin never intended to get caught up in any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Almighty Thud :: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This ran away from me and turned into a behemoth. I think because my mind started wanting to write a tv series instead. I'm sorry.  
>  *edit 26-06-15: I have 14 pages of notes that I'm finally ready to work from for part two. I don't promise anything, but it's a start.
> 
> Art for this fic was done by Dahlia94 - check it out over at [ dahlia's LJ](http://dahlia94.livejournal.com/13515.html)

**An Almighty Thud  
**

**::**

Guinevere was moving quietly about the room, bare feet padding over thick cream carpets in the dark. Arthur loved watching her like this, pulling on a slip, hopping about on one foot as she struggled with her stockings. Here, in the half light of dawn, Gwen was still the flustered girl he had grown up with, far removed from the graceful, serious persona she had since constructed as a woman. 

He gave himself a moment to revel in the morning – it wasn’t often that he got the chance to have a bit of a lie in these days, what with his father and the company. This was the first morning in weeks that Gwen was up before him. In a few hours he would have to make his way over to the business district, but for now, this moment, he had the liberty to simply watch his wife.

“The yellow blouse,” Arthur called helpfully from their bed. Gwen stuck her head out from their maze of a closet and shot him a smile. 

“I didn’t know you were awake.”

Arthur propped his hand behind his head, beckoning with his other. 

“Oh no, I know that look,” Gwen smile curved into a smirk. “I can’t be late today. You may have a bit of time on your hands but I have a veritable library of paperwork to go through before we can – yes, I know. The yellow blouse is perfect.”

After her father had died, Gwen had begun working on creating a foundation to work with orphaned and abandoned children across Southern England. For five years now, she had been tirelessly working as founder, volunteer and accountant for every fundraising event hosted for the cause. In a way, Arthur envied her drive. He had spent longer working for his father, and had yet to develop half the passion Gwen exuded on a daily basis. Sometimes he wondered if he ever would.

“Come here,” Arthur said lightly.

Gwen pulled on her yellow silk shirt and scooped up her mobile from the dresser before crossing the distance. “Don’t make me late.”

“You’re going to be brilliant,” he replied, pressing a firm kiss against her lips. She always was. Gwen had this peculiar way of winning over anyone she encountered that Arthur had yet to understand even after three years of marriage.

Gwen’s mobile’s alert went off and she rolled her eyes as she pulled away. “Sorry, duty –“

Arthur frowned as his wife trailed off, staring silently at the screen of her mobile. “Gwen?”

He saw the moment her knees gave out, refusing to carry her weight. Later he would wonder how, in his flurry of sheets and limbs, he didn’t send them both crashing into the window, but in that moment his whole focus was on catching Guinevere as she collapsed before his eyes.

Arthur blinked, fighting the mounting fear in his chest as he held her close. She was breathing. He had caught her. One hand was stroking the side of her head, alternating between stroking her cheek and carding through her thick dark hair. He heard his own mobile go off somewhere in the distance. He fumbled one handed for her phone, thumbed it open and read.

And suddenly he understood.

**::**

Merlin Emrys hefted a broom in one hand, eying the floor with a critical look. He shot Gilli a glance, wondering idly if he could convince the other man to finish the sweeping while he grabbed a bite to eat. Gilli pointed at the ground, not even bothering to look from his spot perched atop a stool behind the till, nose buried in a novel. Merlin sighed. He had a half hour before he needed to hang up his apron and don a pair of scrubs.

“You heading over to that posh Lord’s place later?” Gilli asked absently.

“Yeah,” Merlin called as he began sweeping. 

It had been a year, but he was slowly finding his feet in London. When Merlin realised working one job wasn’t nearly enough to support himself and still have funds to send back home to Newport, he had done what he had to. He had rung his great uncle. For good or ill, that had gained him a part-time position as a personal caregiver to a middle-aged lord who was slowly fading away.

“If you come in to work tomorrow pining again –“

“I do not _pine_ ,” Merlin said firmly. Merlin knew Gilli was staring at him over his book and ignored him. 

Gilli was an alright bloke. The café was his mother’s, pulled together with the money his father left them and still running strong even after ten years. Gilli was still a little angry and a little broken over his father’s death, but he was earnest and hardworking and fiercely loyal to those he deemed family. Merlin knew it was hard growing up without a father. It seemed there was too much of that going around these days.

All the same, this was the fourth time this month that Gilli had made insinuations regarding Merlin’s propensity to ‘pine’ of all things, so Merlin’s compassion towards him was really all but used up right then.

“The man’s married, isn’t he? Didn’t know you were into a bit of rough and tumble with a married toff –“ Gili added.

Merlin rolled his eyes, kicking a few chairs back into place with his foot. “God, go back to your book.”

Gilli shrugged. “Could do worse.”

Merlin attacked the floor with determination.

At the age of two, Merlin Emrys could make his stuffed sheep Bernard dance. At the age of four, he could make his mother’s garden bloom in midwinter. At the age of five and on the cusp of school, his mother made him swear to be cautious, careful. He learned to make excuses for the strange things that inexplicably happened around him, whether he had meant for them to happen or not. Often times his excuses were flimsy at best, but necessary nonetheless. Extraordinary reflexes, he said when he caught an upended cup mid fall – something that was disproved on the playgrounds time and again when he was pelted with footballs from petty classmates. Extremely observant, he said when he froze time long enough to pull a senior out of the way of a lorry, and yet at least once a month, he would spend a day wandering about his life with one sign or another taped to his back. 

Through it all, Merlin had done his best to keep his head down and his smile bright. If the occasional classmate tripped into a mud pit or briefly developed an obnoxious laughing snort reminiscent of a pig, well…Merlin kept his head down, didn’t he. His mother still seemed to know, and her disapproval haunted him even now.

When he was twenty, his mother told him to leave home – not because she wanted to lose him, but because Merlin, being Merlin, had a knack of attracting attention in an undesirable way. When he was twenty four, Merlin agreed. He had moved to London. Big city, easier to get lost in and blend into a crowd. Strange occurrences in a city like London were just swept away and hidden beneath the busy lives and struggles of the everyday citizen; hidden behind newspaper walls and averted eyes. In London, Merlin could very nearly hide in plain sight.

He’d given the idea of becoming a busker a thought on the train. Where levitating objects and animating them would amaze and delight, or be scoffed at as sleight of hand for a few pence here and there in Southbank or Covent Garden. He might be good at that.

But his mother’s voice always echoed in his head _. Be careful. Stay low_.

So he hadn’t, in the end. He’d pulled out a rumpled and wrinkled scrap of paper as he stepped from the train carriage, thumbed in the number his mother had forced upon him and rang her uncle.

Gaius was a respectable man, his mother had told him over a mug of hot tea in the deep of winter. A doctor – no longer just a general practitioner but a private physician with his own clients - and married to another, a specialist in her field. Through Gaius, Merlin was able to set himself up with a painfully small bachelor flat that still cost more than a two bedroom in Wales, and a somewhat reliable job at a café a few blocks over.

Seven months and three weeks later, after swallowing his pride and ringing Gaius once more, Merlin became Gaius’ reluctant apprentice. Soon, Merlin found himself a regular position most evenings as an assistant caregiver to Lord Uther Pendragon.

It was decent. He made a fair sum in wages, most of which he sent home to his mother - Hunith worked hard, but worked _harder_ for their community shelter. She had to put up with Merlin as a precocious, magical child, and he felt he owed her the support now when he could afford it. Besides, his patient was near comatose, which made for an easy job and left room for few surprises. 

That is, until the man’s son turned up - which was a different sort of surprise in and of itself.

Merlin had never been so fascinated by another human being in his entire life. Uther Pendragon’s son was blond with eyes as blue as the sky and broad shoulders dressed in suits that fit him in a way that Merlin’s never would. When their schedules had matched that first night, Merlin had spent more time staring at Pendragon junior than he had doing any of his assigned duties. Thankfully for his career as a caregiver, the single-minded concern of a brooding man for his ailing father had constructed blinders for the young Pendragon, and Merlin had gradually built up a resistance against him.

If he had been asked if he had a ‘type’ a year ago, Merlin would have laughed and started debating the idea of boxing off attributes versus the appeal of genuine compatibility. If he was asked now, much to his embarrassment, Merlin would say _Arthur Pendragon_.

It was just his luck the man was so posh it hurt. Or that he had a gorgeous, perfect and lovely wife. Merlin had never been the sort to be attracted to someone so painfully unattainable before, and frankly he was more than a little irritated at himself that he undeniably was now.

Within minutes of meeting Guinevere Pendragon, Merlin had sighed, shook her hand and began doing his damnedest to ignore his impulses. Gwen was impossible to resent, even in the slightest. Three months in though, and Merlin had yet to move on and find himself a partner – or at the very least, the occasional one-off. His hours made the notion near impossible anyhow. Next week, Merlin vowed – next week he would start having a life outside work.

Deep down, Merlin knew he was probably lying to himself.

**::**

“How is it possible?” Arthur pressed. 

Leon shook his head, glancing back to the half-closed door of Uther Pendragon’s rooms. Just beyond the wood the nurse with his scruff of black hair and confident hands was moving about, changing over the bed sheets as Uther sat convalescing in an overstuffed chair by the window. Arthur’s father looked drawn, pale in the warm morning light filtering in through leaded glass panes. The man Uther Pendragon had been was nothing more than a distant thought in this room. 

Before his illness, Arthur had never once thought of his father as vulnerable, as old. Uther Pendragon was indestructible. Infallible. After he was confined to bed, the dynamics in Arthur’s life had shifted, forcing a responsibility on him he hadn’t expected to have for a long while yet. Now Arthur had to be the strength of the Pendragons; now Arthur had to carry them all into the future.

It was painful to spend time in Uther’s presence now, seeing the man whose shadow dominated Arthur’s childhood dwarfed by his own chair - and yet spend time Arthur did. Every evening he checked in with Leon and stayed for at least an hour, whether his father was awake or not. Every Saturday while Gwen was off saving the world. On Sundays, Gwen had made him promise to take for himself; a demand issued when she saw just how taxing the whole affair was becoming.

Her father had died quickly. His was simply fading before their eyes.

“You’re certain it was Lance?” Leon folded his arms, waiting for Arthur to quit pacing and face him. The man was taller than Arthur, with shaggy, dirty blond hair that spilled into a neatly trimmed beard. He had been a good friend to Arthur long before he was hired on as the head of Uther’s household security. He was one of the few friends Arthur still had. The realisation made something twist uncomfortably in Arthur’s stomach. 

While Leon had never been overly close to Lance DuLac, Arthur knew they had parted on good terms. Leon had even attended the quiet memorial gathering they had hosted when Gwen had finally dried her eyes and resurfaced a little bit tougher.

“I don’t know.” Arthur paused, running a hand roughly through his hair and staring hard at the ground. “Neither of us had the – I still had his name in my contacts. Whoever it is, they’re using the same number. Could it be some sort of involved, sick joke?”

“How did Guinevere take it?” Leon asked instead of answering.

Arthur closed his eyes, remembering how pale Gwen had looked sitting next to him in the Aston, head held high and firm in her insistence that she was fine. Would be fine. How she couldn’t be late, not today, Arthur. He had left her outside her office, watching from the car as she pulled herself together and slipped back into a near perfect impression of herself, walking proudly up the steps and disappearing inside. “It’s been three years.”

Leon said nothing. Arthur could feel Leon’s eyes on his back as he determinedly watched the nurse folding back the red and gold duvet, the crisp white under sheet, from the foot of space between open door and frame. It was almost peaceful sometimes watching the young man moving about his tasks and Arthur found himself watching more and more often when looking at his father became too much.

He tried to tell himself sometimes that he didn’t know the sound of the man’s footfalls in the hall, or the twist of his lips when he smiled as Arthur entered the room, but Arthur did. He tried to tell himself he didn’t want to know what that smile meant. Arthur had filed it all away despite everything.

“Three years,” Arthur repeated softly. “She thought he was dead.”  
__  
_We all thought he was dead._  
  
What would their lives be now, if they had known? Arthur wondered. His father’s nurse glanced up and Arthur turned away from those blue eyes, crossing his arms and exhaling sharply.

Lance Dulac had always been tan and roguish and noble to a fault. He had been Arthur’s friend since back when Arthur was still strutting about Eton demanding to be called Arthur DuBois, after his mother. It had all started after some comment Morgana had made one afternoon, and Lance had supported his declaration without question. That phase lasted one summer, after which Uther had given Arthur his mother’s ring. Arthur had decided that if Igraine could deign to accept the Pendragon name, he could too. Since then, Lance and Arthur had been near inseparable.

And then came Guinevere. She was a sweet girl with dark flawless skin and a quick wit that had always been hiding a little right of Morgana’s shadow. It wasn’t until Lance that Arthur had started to actually notice Gwen hanging about in their back garden or fixing a car out on the street. Morgana used to joke that Gwen sometimes acted more like the hired help than the servants themselves, to which Lance had always, without fail, stepped up to defend her honour. Not that Gwen needed it – she was strong and determined and could deliver a verbal riposte like no one’s business when she had a mind to. 

She always let Lance try though, and that was more than anyone else got.

Lance and Guinevere had both wanted to save the world. The two of them were written off as all but married within months of being introduced. Arthur had been half convinced that Lance had already bought the ring, kept safe and tucked away until he was ready.

And then Lance went off to join the army’s medic corps.

Three weeks later, Gwen’s father was stabbed and died en route to the hospital. Arthur had held her all night. He had made funeral arrangements for her, called her brother in from Newcastle. He sent word off to Lance’s posting and never received word back.

Morgana had started drifting closer to her cousin and further away from Arthur, and Arthur… well Arthur had somehow found himself as the only shoulder Gwen had, and he found he didn’t mind much. It was only for so long, Lance was coming back. Lance was coming back, and that ring would be pulled out of a sock drawer or the back of his closet and everything would be right again.

Except Lance never did.

Four years ago, there were news reports of a massive engagement in the Middle East; Lance’s unit was hit hard and still there was no response. The official end of his tour came and went, and Lance never appeared.

Four years ago, Gwen broke and Arthur was left holding together the pieces.

**::**

Merlin kept his head low, firmly tucking in sheet corners with military precision. Every so often his path took him into a position where he could see the blond head of the younger Pendragon, and every time he swore the other man was watching him; judging his movements. Arthur always did that when Merlin was nearby, and Merlin had no doubt that when he wasn’t, Arthur was still going over in his head Merlin’s competency. Some days it was nerve wracking enough that Merlin left completely astounded that his fumbling fingers had let him accomplish anything at all. Thankfully, in the few months he had been there, Merlin had yet to drop anything embarrassing in Arthur’s presence, though he still had nightmares occasionally about tripping over the ridiculously expensive Persian rug and throwing the contents of Lord Pendragon’s bed pan over the man’s son. Merlin made sure to be extra careful every time he changed that now.

There had already been at least one near call.

Then again, there was a high possibility that Merlin was reading far too much into the whole situation. Projecting his nervousness on Arthur and filling in the gaps with all the gossip about the Pendragon family the other house staff whispered in the hallways. To be fair, Arthur never seemed to fit the horror stories Merlin had heard about Lord Pendragon and his son back from a time when Uther was in full health. The other staff always went out of their way to creep quietly about the manse, staying out of sight and keeping their heads down. They hardly even dared enter Lord Pendragon’s chamber to clean, despite the man’s condition. Arthur himself didn’t seem to even register that Merlin existed as an entity beyond the hired help, so Merlin supposed he really was being a bit ridiculous.

Morgana Vivienne, whom Merlin was never quite certain over her relation to the Pendragons, seemed to think that Arthur was the son of the devil. Arthur certainly had an air and intensity about him that set Merlin on edge. But then, Morgana Vivienne had a bit of a terrifying edge to her, herself.

Merlin had first encountered Morgana when she burst through the front door wrapped in a red dress that looked like will power alone held it together and heels that could puncture a tyre, ranting about one model or another. She had apparently worked as a model herself since the age of fourteen, if the maids were to be believed, until she got tired of listening to other people and started giving orders of her own. It hadn’t been until Leon had appeared at her side a half hour later that Morgana had taken a seat, accepted a drink and changed from a Valkyrie back into a –albeit arrestingly good looking and scandalous – woman once more. Merlin, to this day, thought Leon had at least a little magic in him. Merlin had witnessed the whole affair from the top of the stairs, frozen next to one of the maids, worried that if either of them moved she might turn on them.

When she finally introduced herself to him, there was a moment and a gleam in her eyes where Merlin realised that he had been right – there was something dangerous in knowing Morgana Vivienne. She looked at him speculatively, like a business proposition. Merlin’s wariness over the episode was proved right when he was handed a business card a few days later that lay untouched in his wallet, and Morgana had started cornering him during her visits. Merlin couldn’t decide if Morgana’s strange interest or Arthur’s intense and unnamed scrutiny unbalanced him more.

Today, there was something different in Arthur’s face and the angle of his frowns. Today, there was a defensive tension across those broad shoulders and crossed arms. For a moment, it looked like the grim contemplation of a man atop battlements, seeing the camps and fires in the fields below. Not for the first time, Merlin wished they had the sort of working relationship where he could broach the thin silence and ask what had changed, but they didn’t. Whatever Arthur was going through, Merlin would have to wait until the man himself offered something.

**::**

“Father?” Arthur bent down in front of his father’s armchair as he never had as a young man. His father had always preached strength of character, of will; a straight back and a firm jaw. Up until last year, Arthur had never been in his father’s presence without his head held high, his posture perfect. He was a Pendragon.

Now his father gazed listlessly out of leaded glass, looking more than a little lost, and more broken than Arthur was ready to handle. Someone placed a glass in Arthur’s hand, curling his fingers around it. “Maybe he’ll take it from you,” the words were soft and Arthur nodded.

“Can you give us a minute, Emrys?” Arthur glanced at the dark-haired nurse. 

The man was in his late twenties, barely taller and much thinner than Arthur; a recommendation from Gaius and his wife when the pair were off seeing their other patients. Emrys’ presence had become a bit of a fixture in Arthur’s life during his visits – the man chatted amiably to anyone and everyone in the house, and knew how the right time to be silent as he went about his job. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Arthur actually _liked_ hearing his voice filling up the void, making the house feel lived in in a way that it hadn’t for _years_.

Ever, really.

He didn’t want the man to be silent, but just now…Arthur needed the space.

When the man had left, Arthur turned back to his father. “Your nurse says you haven’t eaten anything yet today,” he said softly. “You need to keep up your strength. You -”

Arthur cut off, finding his father’s eyes lingering on his face. 

When Uther Pendragon first fell ill over a year ago, no one really took notice. He still arrived at work earlier than the secretaries. He still fired employees on a near weekly basis. He still had his personal secretary Catriona call Arthur and patch him through to have their weekly ‘life’ conference, backhandedly questioning every one of Arthur’s choices. It wasn’t until he blacked out during a quarterly review that Arthur had even known anything was wrong.

Gaius still didn’t have an answer as to what was afflicting him.

“Here.” Arthur’s free hand caught up one of Uther’s, helping him bring the glass to his lips. Arthur only had so many people in his life – despite their differences, his father meant more to Arthur than he could ever admit. “Don’t let me lose you, Father.”

“Arthur, dear?” Morgana’s voice cut through the room. “There’s a call for you.”

“A moment,” Arthur called back, careful not to spill as his father drank.

Morgana had made a point to visit their father nearly as often as Arthur himself, at least as far as the household staff could tell. She spent the occasional day or so camped out in the guest room, conducting her business by phone so that she might spend more time with Uther. Their time rarely overlapped, but Arthur was thankful that his father had someone to check in on him when Arthur’s duties called him elsewhere.

“It’s your uncle. He says it’s important,” she insisted.

Arthur closed his eyes. Agravaine had been his father’s accountant for over twenty-five years. The man knew the ins and outs of Uther’s company in a way few others could even grasp and over the past year Arthur had found the man’s assistance invaluable. If Agravaine had found something troubling, Arthur owed it to his father’s legacy to look into it – but then, the definition of ‘important’ varied daily with his uncle.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Father,” Arthur said as he got to his feet, setting the glass aside on a night stand. He wondered vaguely if Uther even knew Arthur was there at all; if Uther saw Arthur, or just a spectre of his dead wife.

He passed Morgana on his way out, brushing past the comforting arm she placed on his shoulder. His father’s nurse was waiting just outside the room. The man looked a bit more harried than he had when he’d first left the bed chamber but he still offered Arthur a tentative smile. Arthur wasn’t overly surprised; spending any time at all with Morgana often became a harrowing experience. 

“Did he manage any of it?”

“A bit. Has he said anything today?” Arthur rubbed his eyes. His day had barely begun and already he was exhausted by it. In a few hours he would be heading out to Islington to meet Lance at a pub to determine if he could risk taking Gwen out to dinner with the man. He still had no idea how to handle the situation himself.

“No. I’m sorry. He’s been improving a little since last week though, aside from the aversion to sustenance, that is,” Emrys supplied. “He walked to the chair himself, this evening.”

As he blinked and refocused on the man before him, Arthur realized that he had never once bothered to ask for the name of the man responsible for his father’s well-being. Despite listening to him prattle around the house, Arthur still knew him only as Nurse Emrys, as the man had first been introduced by Gaius and his wife, Alice. And now… _Arthur’s father was improving_. Since Emrys had been brought on as Uther’s part-time caregiver three months ago, Arthur’s father was slowly showing signs of life again. It was no more than spurts and bursts of independence and focus, but it was _there_ and it gave Arthur hope.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been terribly rude. I’ve been in and out of here all this time and I’ve never properly introduced myself.” Emrys gave him an odd look which Arthur decided he probably deserved; Arthur had plenty of opportunities to strike up a conversation with Emrys, and he never had. Still, he stuck to his path and held out a hand. “Arthur Pendragon. Thank you for taking care of my father.”

“Merlin Emrys.” Merlin smiled, grasping Arthur’s hand with ease. The hand was warm and dry and fit nicely in his, Arthur thought distractedly. “And you’re welcome. Thank you for occasionally distracting Ms Vivienne from her recruiting missions.”

Arthur was turning to leave when Merlin’s words caught up with him. “I…what?”

“Pardon?”

“Recruiting missions?” Arthur’s attention was divided. He needed to see what had Agravaine calling him in on a Friday evening, but at the same time - the last time Morgana had been recruiting people, it resulted in Arthur losing five of his best men to a photo-shoot in Maui for eight days. The last thing his father needed was for his medical team to disappear for god knows how long just to suit the woman’s fancy.

“It’s not important. I don’t think she’s serious anyway; I’ve already told her I’m not interested.” Merlin was grinning in a way Arthur had never seen from him; unconsciously, he filed it away with the others, before the pleased smile and the absentminded smile. The smile Merlin wore when he spoke quietly to the house staff and the awkward smile he wore when he caught Arthur watching him. 

They’d never really _had_ a proper chat, Arthur realised. Arthur would nod when they passed each other, he’d occasionally inquire if his father was awake when he entered. Merlin, if Arthur remembered correctly, had always offered something by way of a conversational gambit. Most times Arthur hadn’t really been listening, thinking of work or worrying, or trying not to think at all, and Merlin would lapse into silence once more. Arthur couldn’t honestly say that he minded the silence – he had never been as gifted as Gwen at the art of casual conversation or collecting acquaintances and he was fine with that. At the same time, Arthur didn’t want to be known as an arrogant and aloof upper-class plonk; Gwen was merciless in her teasing to that regard. Maybe he _should_ make an effort.

Maybe it would ease the strange feeling of being caught out when Merlin met his eyes.

Maybe – but not today, Arthur decided. Tomorrow. Or next week.

“Right. Well…I’ve a few calls to make. If you’ll excuse me.” Arthur nodded a farewell, turning on his heel. He really didn’t see what Morgana saw in Merlin. She typically chased after fit sport types, the sort that women liked drenched in waterfalls or climbing mountains. Merlin was a thin, somewhat lanky looking Welsh boy with a strange face and wide ears. She was having a laugh over the poor man, surely.

And Arthur should be thinking about Agravaine’s message and not at all wondering if Merlin was hiding something spectacular under his layers of scrubs.

**::**

After Pendragon-the-Younger – _Arthur_ – had left to attend to his uncle, Merlin had helped Uther into bed. Arthur’s shoulders always appeared to ease when he saw his father sitting upright, infinitesimally as it sometimes seemed – and that right there was where Merlin’s problem started. After the first week of seeing Arthur pale-faced and rigid at Uther’s bedside, Merlin had had made it his mission to never let Arthur look like that again.

It didn’t take long for Uther to fall asleep. The effort of moving drained the man with an alarming speed, but Merlin waited, as he always did when he was alone, for Uther’s eyes to close and his breathing to even out. When he was certain the man was unconscious, Merlin let his hand drift to rest a few centimetres above Uther’s chest, his eyes closed and magic softly searching.

Uther was taking eleven types of pills, in various combinations throughout the week. He was in the care of the best physician Merlin had ever met. He was a man in the prime of his life. And he _wasn’t getting better._

Merlin couldn’t understand it. Gaius couldn’t explain it. So Merlin did the only thing he could think of after weeks of Arthur’s tired face and countless pills had frustrated him beyond reason.

And he had found something.

It hadn’t been easy. Initially, he had only wanted to try to boost Uther’s system, see if that alone would be the catalyst needed to propel Uther’s body into healing itself, but when his magic started seeping into the fading man, it had snapped back so violently Merlin had been dazed for hours. Now, after weeks of his experiment, he knew what he was looking for. It was dark, it was slippery and it was quicker than it had any right to be, but there was a shadow lurking inside this man. And it was slowly poisoninghim.

Merlin focused on the feeling that made him feel ill inside, chased that through Uther’s veins and tried, as he often did, to corner it. To crush it against the light of his magic. It didn’t work, not really. At best, he caught a corner of it and chipped away at its form. It was better than nothing though, and Uther always seemed a bit more human the following day, a bit further from being a corpse. He couldn’t chase the darkness every night – he had tried the first week he had stumbled on it. After five days he had gone home queasy and faint, missing his shift at the café when he woke up sluggish and exhausted well after midday. Now he limited his search to once or twice a week.

He snatched his hand back to his side when he heard the door opening, getting to his feet. 

Gaius paused in the threshold. “I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind staying back a bit tonight.”

“No, that’s fine,” Merlin dusted his hands in an attempt to dislodge the slimy feeling that coated his skin after his chase. “I’ll be downstairs, then, shall I?”

Gaius gave a nod and Merlin smiled, passing by on his way out.

Leon was in conversation with a man a few inches shorter, with sandy brown hair cut uniformly short and arms crossed in the front atrium. As Merlin descended the wide curved stairs, the man caught sight of him and raised a hand in greeting.

“Owain, you just starting tonight?” Merlin asked. “Welcome back. Bad luck with the night shift.”

“Just catching up on the gossip,” Owain said with a grin. “Do you know this man still hasn’t asked his lady out for dinner? I’ve been gone, what, a few weeks?”

“She isn’t ‘my lady’,” Leon grumbled, and Merlin laughed.

“She might be if you’d just get around to asking her,” Merlin said good-naturedly. Leon’s infatuation with Morgana was one of the worst kept secrets amongst the staff. If Morgana herself didn’t know about it, Merlin would be surprised. Leon rolled his eyes at the pair of them and Merlin left the men and moved on to wait in the Pendragon’s oversized kitchen.

It was larger than Merlin’s entire flat, with a wide counter island and fridge freezer combo that looked like it could fit three bodies without much struggle. There was a flattop range built into the island and another six hob industrial stove next to the double basin sink with an exhaust hood the size of Merlin’s shower. Merlin had a sink that was barely deep enough to drown in and a hotplate fighting for space with his toaster. The day Merlin had been told by Gaius, and reassured by Leon, that he had free range of the space, Merlin had fought down the fear that he would one day set the place on fire and set to learning his way around.

He grabbed a kettle – Uther’s kitchen had three, of varying sizes – and set about boiling some water. Making tea was about the only thing he trusted himself to do in this kitchen. It wasn’t long before Gaius met Merlin downstairs where Merlin was finishing up the pot.

Gaius stood just inside the room, watching Merlin fetch a pair of mugs and measure out a half spoon of sugar for one, and one heaping spoon for the other as he had countless times over the past few months. After a moment he said, “What have you been doing, Merlin?”

“Nothing,” Merlin lied, pouring in the tea and giving it a quick stir with a dash of milk. He held out one mug with a smile. Merlin sensed it wasn’t as convincing as he had hoped.

“Merlin.” There was a sternness to the older man’s voice that Merlin hadn’t yet been able to successfully ignore. “You need to stop this.”

“Stop making you tea?”

“Don’t play the fool, not about this.”

“I can make him _better_ , Gaius,” Merlin argued. Gaius not only knew about Merlin’s magic, but seemed to share his mother’s caution; a point which continually frustrated Merlin. “There’s something wrong, rooted deep inside – something his medication can’t fight off on its own.”

The old man sighed heavily. “I’m not against you using your gift for good reasons. You know that, don’t you? If I had your power, I know that I would try whatever I could to help. What worries me is that neither I nor Alice could sense what you can. Alice has dealt with…unusual maladies quite frequently in her rounds. I wonder if you have any idea what you are tangling with here; if perhaps it is something…Uther knows about such things, Merlin. Saying he is not a fan of such methods is an understatement.”

“He knows?”

Gaius eyed Merlin carefully. “He would not thank you. Even if you save his life, Merlin, he would not thank you. If you are caught – if this spins into something you can’t handle, I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to…”

“I will be careful,” Merlin said firmly. “But I can’t do _nothing_. It’s not natural. It’s…not _right_.”

Merlin knew that Gaius wasn’t happy with his answer. Truly, he didn’t know what he could say to remedy the situation, and it seemed neither did Gaius. All the same, Merlin knew that Arthur needed his father, and at least in this he could give Arthur the chance he himself had never been given. He wouldn’t deny Arthur that, regardless of what Gaius asked of him. 

“And what happens when the caster discovers what you’ve done?” Gaius said softly.

Merlin’s hands gripped his mug tightly. “Caster?”

Gaius shot him a calculating look. “You said it yourself. If it’s not naturally occurring, one can only surmise someone or something is behind it. I only hope that you know what you’re getting into.”

Merlin said nothing, burying his face in his mug as he took a long drink. He couldn’t stop, not now, not when he was so close. Arthur needed him, in this, if nothing else.

**::**

“I think your vision of the future is admirable and inspiring, Arthur,” Agravaine placed a hand on the back of Arthur’s chair, leaning closer as he continued. “But until you can realise that vision, you must understand that other companies are going to be watching your actions with hunger in their eyes. Not one of your father’s rivals will stand idly by while you sketch out a masterpiece.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he appreciated Agravaine’s habit of moving into his personal space. The action made Arthur feel a bit trapped and certainly hampered his ability to think clearly on his own opinions of the matter at hand. During those first few months, when Arthur had buried himself in Camelot and begun investing everything he was into the company, he had started planning. He had organized the chaos that was left in Uther’s wake and he had fought to reach out and form alliances and strengthening the contacts that had been weakening from neglect. It hadn’t been easy – in fact, the whole process had made Arthur feel years older, and sometimes it had been grasping at straws to gain nothing more than a few inches of ground. But it was worth it. It had to be. Camelot would be strong again.

“I understand where you’re coming from, Uncle,” Arthur gestured at the papers before him, “but selling my father’s subsidiary companies like this –“

Asctir was a small pharmaceutical company that had been with Camelot Holdings for over twenty-six years. Over the past six, Uther had been sending more projects their way – small things, as far as Arthur could determine, but a few here and there that Uther had deemed important enough to oversee himself. There was evidence of a number of contracts that Uther had been negotiating before his illness that might rely on Asctir’s results, and if they were unable to provide them, finding a company that could might very well be something that Arthur would need to look into.

“This is merely an example of the responsibilities that come with the title. The company is failing, their results are plummeting - best to sell it now while Camelot can still turn a profit off it. Just think of what your father would have wanted, Arthur; Uther was quite firm with his convictions.” Agravaine clamped his hand down on Arthur’s shoulder, giving it two hard pats.

“Of course, you’re right. Uther would have cut them loose months ago based on these figures,” Arthur replied with a frown. Uther sold off a number of companies over his years as CEO, sometimes resulting in massive job loss across the world, but always profiting Camelot Holdings. Often he replaced them with smaller, more streamlined businesses to bring gold into his coffers. With the uncertainty of Uther’s recovery, Arthur needed every branch of the company to be solid, dependable. 

But Uther hadn’t always made the right decisions, Arthur was beginning to discover the longer he reviewed projects and sorted out Uther’s affairs. During the onset of Uther’s illness, Uther’s approach had taken more of a paranoid turn, dropping employees – and in three cases, whole companies – for minor infractions which had cost Camelot hard during the Q3 reviews. Surely there was a _reason_ Uther had kept Asctir over the years. Arthur wanted to be certain he was justified in his response. No, he _needed_ to be.

Arthur dragged his thumb along the edge of his father’s desk as he watched his Uncle take a drink out of Uther’s crystal tumbler. He wondered why Agravaine hadn’t thought to bring this to him during work hours earlier in the day. Or waited until Monday. The man’s dedication to his work was admirable, but he really needed to work on his timing.

Agravaine raised his glass in Arthur’s direction with a smile that had set Arthur’s nerves on edge since the age of nine. Arthur couldn’t read that smile. Agravaine had helped himself to a measure of Uther’s scotch shortly upon entering the office, and Arthur tried not to let that bother him. It wasn’t as though Arthur was going to start drinking at work, and Uther sure as hell wasn’t going to be drinking it any time soon. As far as Arthur knew, Uther only kept the bar on the sideboard for when hard diplomacy was better eased with inhibitions lowered. “I’ll start drawing up the sale papers on Monday. You make your father proud, Arthur; Camelot is better for having you on her side.” 

“Thank you, Uncle,” Arthur said, feeling the weight of the Pendragon Empire on his shoulders all the more surely. “I may have overlooked Aglain’s financials for months yet had it not been for your sharp eyes.”

As Arthur watched Agravaine set down his empty tumbler and walk out from Uther’s old office, he couldn’t help but feel slightly ill.

He knew Agravaine was right – that his father would have had a decisive plan for dealing with issues like this, that Uther had always been a man of action. But Arthur wasn’t his father. Arthur preferred to make decisions based off a collected wealth of information; for something like this, he’d prefer to call a meeting, discuss it with his department heads and have Aglain at the table to fill in the gaps.

But that wasn’t the role he had inherited. And right then, as hard of a pitched battle as Arthur had fought for Camelot, the idea of seeing Lance again out-trumped any concern he had for Uther’s company. Whatever this was, it could wait until Monday.

**::**

On his way over to the pub that night, Arthur had run through a number of different reactions he might have for seeing Lance again after four years of radio silence. He toyed with the idea of leading with a fist. That sentiment lasted far longer than he was proud to admit. What Arthur didn’t anticipate was standing in shocked silence, having Lance grip his forearm and pull him into a one-armed hug before ushering Arthur over to a chair.

When Arthur went out for a drink, it was usually a local nearer their home in St. John’s Wood, not somewhere out by Angel. Mutual silent agreement stated that he and Gwen avoided Lance’s old neighbourhood by default. It was surreal being there now with the man himself.  
_  
__Hundred Crows Rising_ was a newer establishment, though Arthur knew it was only the newest in a string of incarnations in the space. It was modern and clean without a trace of fabric which made it look sleek, but also made it incredibly noisy without anything to dampen the sound of its patrons. It was mostly full of twenty to mid-thirties. Arthur would classify it as ‘trendy’. Gwen might like to visit once it got warmer if it stuck around.

“My god, how are you?” Lance ordered a round of beers from a lad with a coif of hair a few inches high before turning his disarming grin on Arthur. Arthur hated that the man still had that expression. “I didn’t know for certain you’d even kept the same number, it’s been so long.”

“I…I’m well, thank you, and yourself?” Arthur fell back on polite mannerisms as his brain tried to come up with something more than ‘but you’re _dead_ ’ or ‘you bastard, do you know what Gwen’s been through?’

Lance was older than Arthur remembered, though Arthur supposed he himself had aged more than he cared to admit. The longer hair from their school days had made way for a grown-out military cut that suited the older Lance in a way his boyish rebellious hair would have failed and he had the makings of a beard forming across his jaw. Lance had gained a small scar bisecting his right eyebrow and Arthur was willing to bet it wasn’t the only token of experiences Lance had gained over his tour of service. If anything, he was more attractive for it, but Arthur squashed that thought before it gained ground. He toyed with the idea that perhaps Lance had a twin tucked away somewhere, rearing his head now for unknown reasons.

“Arthur?” Lance picked up one of the pints, pushing the other across the pub table to nudge Arthur’s hand. “You look like you’ve –“

“If you say ‘seen a ghost’, I swear to god I will punch you, Lance,” was out of Arthur’s mouth before his brain clamped it shut. In that moment, however, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“Alright…I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you, Pendragon.” Lance’s frown was set. “I haven’t seen you –“

“I thought you were dead, Lance,” Arthur said bluntly and jabbed a finger across the table. “We all did. _Actual dead._ We heard the reports, you didn’t send a damn word back –“

“ _Dead_? How could you possibly -” A loud raucous laughter erupted across the pub and Arthur used the interruption to lean forward.

“Your unit exploded, Lance. The Beeb covered it extensively – we heard in detail the death counts including three bodies unable to be identified. You had no relatives; they refused to release information about your posting. You were listed as still missing –what were we supposed to think, Lance?”

“…I never knew,” Lance was looking more than a little bewildered, which Arthur had to give the man. He wasn’t at all sure what his own reaction would be to coming back home to this. A part of him wanted to give Lance a break. A part of him still wanted to hit him.

“Gwen was near beside herself,” Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t think I’m not glad you’re alive and kicking, but how the hell are you even sitting here?”

“Gwen…Gwen thought I was dead?” Lance was staring hard at his hands and Arthur gave him a moment, choosing to drain half his pint and wishing for something harder. The man looked physically deflated and Arthur had caused it. “Is she happy, then? Now, I mean. Did she ever…?”

Arthur took another drink. He tried not to think about the summer Lance had spent working double hours and saving away. The night Lance had shown up, flustered and nervous, completely broke but undeniably happy - when Morgana had pulled Arthur aside and said it looked like Lance had finally bought it, and bet Arthur fifty quid Lance was going to propose within the week.

“She did.” Lance ran a hand through his hair, looking twice his age in that moment. “Of course she did. She was so beautiful, and kind. Of course she did.”

“Guinevere is my wife.” Arthur stared at the bottom of his pint glass. He wondered for a moment, a bit irrationally, if Gwen would have wanted Arthur to share that with Lance. And why _shouldn’t_ he? She was _Arthur’s_ _wife_. Despite that, Arthur _still_ felt a bit crap.

Lance was silent.

“Two double whiskeys, neat,” Arthur called to the passing bartender. He had a feeling they would be needing hard liquor, even if Lance wasn’t usually a drinker. Or hadn’t been – Arthur realised he didn’t know him all that well now, regardless of their past. Of all the madness in Arthur’s life, having his best friend back from the dead had to be one of the more pleasant surprises – even with all the awkwardness that would inevitably ensue. The awkwardness that was already upon them.

“Congratulations,” Lance said weakly after a time. “I always thought you…well.”

Arthur watched him carefully.

After marrying Gwen, Arthur had never once expected that he would have to honestly sit down and consider if he had made the right choice. At the time, there had been no question. He had been happy, Gwen had been happy; together they were able to do great things. There was no other woman Arthur had ever met he’d rather spend his life with.

But it should have been Lance. 

Lance was the one that Gwen was meant to be with; Arthur knew that with every fibre of his being. But the matter wasn’t his choice and never had been. Lance would never have the wealth and influence the Pendragon name leant to Gwen’s campaign to save the world, and Lance had a terrible track record for disappearing right in the thick of things. Even if Lance had been around during that time, logic made Arthur the best option - but despite that, Lance had won her devotion years ago. In Gwen’s heart, Arthur Pendragon would always be second best.

If Gwen decided that she wanted Lance, Arthur wondered if he would be willing to step aside. For Gwen, not for Lance. As far as Arthur was concerned, Lance had too much to make up for to get off that easily.

“Why didn’t you write? _Call_?”

Lance’s face reassembled itself into something resembling his old smile. He wasn’t fooling Arthur, not when Arthur had lived for three years with a woman like Gwen who kept a jar of masks by the door. “I was kept rather busy on base – that’s what happens to doctors in war zones. Our comm lines went down more often than they should and limited the hours we could call out, call home. Some of the places I saw – they needed me. I stayed on after my tour. Spent two years in a small village on the east coast of Africa, no telephones, had to walk thirty miles to mail anything. I did, once. Guess it didn’t make it home.”

Arthur realized then that Lance had thought Gwen would wait for him. It hit him that if Gwen had known he was alive, she damn well would have, radio silence or not. If Lance disappeared again, Arthur was certain it would ruin her.

“You know now why I asked to see you first, before tomorrow night?”

“You still want to have dinner?”

“Lance, three days ago I thought my best friend was dead; I want to be able to see you as often as you will allow it. You are always welcome in my life.” And Arthur found meant it – he just wasn’t certain what _Gwen’s_ opinion on the situation would be.

Between the three of them, Arthur wondered if he might just be the only one who wanted that.

**::**

The sound of pots in the kitchen greeted Arthur when he got home, and Arthur knew there would be a flurry of activity to accompany it. Gwen’s stages of dealing with things emerged in a variety of ways and Arthur had catalogued them all – sleepless nights and excessive baking were on the horizon, it seemed. Arthur resigned himself to the idea of eating baked goods for the rest of the month. It was better than when she got it in her head to reorganize the house or distract herself by trying something new; at least this didn’t involve Arthur sitting awkwardly behind an easel and he’d still know where his socks were in the morning. No, baking he could deal with.

True to form, there was a three tiered cake waiting to be iced on the breakfast table and a rack of cooling scones on their island.

Arthur slipped up behind Gwen, easing a whisk from her hands and pressing a kiss against her neck. 

“You alright?” he asked, knowing the answer as well as her response. Yes, she was fine, there was nothing he could do, Gwen would respond. She relaxed back against him and they stood in silence for a moment.

“…Is it really him?” Gwen whispered. Arthur’s hands tightened a bit in surprise, but he nodded against her neck. He hadn’t realised she had known about his meeting at the pub, though he should have suspected she would find out. They had no real secrets between them.

“Yeah,” Arthur felt the slight curl of her fingers where they covered his about her waist.

Gwen nodded firmly. Arthur let her go when she made to move, returning to her work. “And your uncle?”

Arthur knew a subject change when he heard one. He sighed softly, moving to take a seat on one of their bar stools to keep out of her way. “Is pushing for selling off Asctir.”

There was a noncommittal sound from Gwen before she said, “And is the reasoning sound?”

“He certainly has the paperwork to back it up,” Arthur said. Gwen had moved on to the table, flat spatula in one hand, icing in the other. She looked a bit like she was strategizing a battle, assessing weakness in her approach. Arthur couldn’t help but smile faintly. “He always…”

“He always creeps about like a wily weasel?” Gwen said. She glanced up at Arthur. “Oh come on, the man has never liked me.”

“The reasoning is sound,” Arthur said firmly. “He wouldn’t give advice that harmed Camelot, it’s his career. But still, I don’t have as much information as I would like. I feel…rushed, if that makes sense. It shouldn’t. Things have been mounting towards these decisions since I first took over.” Since the board started objecting to some of the choices Uther had made in the months leading up to his decline; the choices Arthur was still sometimes trying to wrap his head around.

“So do the footwork, take the time you need for an informed decision.” Gwen put down her tools, moving to stand between Arthur’s knees and placed her hands on his shoulders. “You are a smart man, Arthur Pendragon. You will make the right choice.”

She squeezed gently and Arthur reached up, brushing a curl from her face. “Sounds like some late nights.”

Arthur didn’t like doing it anymore, but he _could_ bring his work home. At least then, he wouldn’t have Agravaine staring over his shoulder, and perhaps he would have a clearer head in sussing out just what bothered him. It wasn’t as though it had to be a snap decision, despite what the older man kept insisting. Camelot was strong, Arthur had made sure of that, and it could survive taking a few hits for now. There was so much going on in Arthur’s life at that moment and Gwen was right; taking whatever time he could to ensure the right choice seemed like the best – if not only - thing he could do.

Gwen might even benefit from the distraction with regards to their other issue.

“I can tell Lance you need more time,” Arthur said softly.

Gwen had tensed in his arms. The mix of emotions in her face was something he had never seen before, and they honestly worried him more than he would admit. “No.”

Arthur waited, rubbing small circles into the small of her back.

“It’s going to be hard, I know that,” Gwen said softly. “But he’s _alive_ , Arthur.”

“He’s alive,” Arthur repeated. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Goodnight, Gwen.”

“Goodnight,” she gave him a small smile, turning back to her cake and taking up her sword.

It was going to be a long night, for the both of them.

**::**

Gaius’ books were even less helpful than Merlin had thought they might be. Merlin let his head thud down on one of the numerous musty old tomes he had dragged down from Gaius’ extensive library lying sprawled before him. He didn’t know what compelled him to undertake this task when Gaius had already _told_ him that he hadn’t found anything. That _Alice_ hadn’t found anything, and magical maladies were her speciality.

Maybe Merlin was a masochist. 

“Should I even ask how it’s going?” came the amused question from Alice. Merlin could hear her shifting from the doorway and he already knew the sort of thing she was likely thinking.

“What causes a shadow?” Merlin mumbled into the book’s binding. “Why would anyone cast something like that?”  
Alice rested a warm dry hand on Merlin’s neck. “Come on, dear, the kettle is brewing and if you don’t sit up now, you’ll have ancient Formorian stuck to your face.” Merlin let out a groan. He obediently rolled to the side though, letting her slip the book away and snap it shut with a thud. “Chocolate or gingersnaps for your biscuits?”

“Ginger,” Merlin said moodily, slowly dragging himself into a standing position. He trailed after Alice through their family home to her sitting room and promptly let himself sink into her overstuffed sofa. Gaius’ home was tucked away near Kew Gardens, about as far away from Merlin’s flat as one could get and still be in London. He didn’t relish the hour or so it would take him to get home.

Merlin sat nibbling distractedly at a biscuit. He was staring out the lace curtains at the grey spring sky of London, rolling over in his head what he knew and didn’t and wanted to and couldn’t.

“You know, I’ve seen a number of different things in my life,” Alice said, pouring out tea from an old brown betty. “Sometimes darkness just seeps in, without help from anyone. Sometimes darkness is in the soul.”

“Gaius thinks someone put it there,” Merlin said absently. “Uther doesn’t feel evil. Not underneath it all.”

“You don’t know his past,” Alice said in a strangely heavy voice, and Merlin glance at her, her eyes focused on spooning sugar into her cup and stirring it with quiet precision. “Sometimes the worst of us are the best at hiding it.”

Merlin chewed the last of his biscuit slowly, dusting off his fingers with a crease between his brows.

“Doesn’t matter,” Merlin said firmly. “Arthur needs him.”

Alice let out a huff of a laugh. “You don’t know what Arthur needs, Merlin. Children need to be free to live their own lives, and Arthur is a man grown – do you really think you are helping him any by dragging him through a mire of hope and despair?”

Merlin frowned, staring hard at the murky surface of his tea. “You think I should give up, let this darkness take him.”

“Every man has an ending. This is Uther’s.” Alice gave Merlin a smile, and Merlin pulled his face into something she would accept. “You’ve been working yourself too hard, dear. I’m not so old yet, I can take a few of your nights here and there.”

Merlin shook his head, reaching for another biscuit. “I’m alright. I’m being careful.”

“How is young Gilli, then? Still looking to go back to school in the fall?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said sullenly, letting the conversation slide.

**::**

Seeing Lance waiting for the two of them outside Hawksmoor in Seven Dials Saturday night had been as surreal as the night before, despite knowing he was entirely why they were there in the first place. Gwen had agreed by omission to Arthur’s suggestion of neutral territory for dinner – they would work their way up to inviting Lance over for supper, sharing wine in a space where they could drink too much and regret the results.

In well fit jeans and a tailored jacket, Lance would have looked like he had just stepped out from a GQ magazine if he just stopped his fidgeting. Arthur could tell the man had gone out of his way to look more presentable, hair tamed and the scruff from the night before trimmed down to something roguishly handsome - something that made even Arthur give him an appreciative once over in a way Arthur hadn’t given anyone for years. Gwen had done the same, even though she had blushed furiously and angrily denied Arthur’s gentle teasing. Arthur wasn’t sure why he had started the teasing in the first place – he felt a little bit sore about the whole thing, he supposed, wanted to study his wife and see how she responded.

Gwen’s beauty was carefree on most occasions; she would look stunning with nothing but wildflowers caught in her hair. That night, she had outdone herself. It was unclear whether it was an attempt to impress her old flame, or an attempt to show him she had moved on. Perhaps it was a bit of both. Arthur had just pulled a jacket from the closet after he got home from his father’s, tie already discarded and sleeves rolled up.

Arthur had kept an arm about Gwen’s waist, holding her steady, shoring her up against the storm. He knew every so often that night, Lance’s eyes had drifted towards Arthur’s hands as though Arthur was marking his territory in the action. Arthur wasn’t as sure as he should have been that he _was_. Just as often, Arthur had felt Gwen shifting closer to him in her seat, as though she were marking territory herself, saying ‘you see this here? This is my husband. The man who wanted to marry me. The man I am very happy with, thank you’. The whole thing would have been hilarious to Arthur years ago, when they were all younger and more free; now he was just confused - worried at what was happening in his life.

If Lance had never told her – and Arthur was willing to bet he hadn’t, the fool – Gwen never knew there might have been a ring in Lance’s pocket back then, just waiting for the right moment. Lance had never made his move, and now it was too late.

Gwen was subdued that night after they returned home. Arthur watched her from their bed, her back straight where she sat at her vanity, methodically stripping off the day. There was a tear in their lives now, something neither had ever seen coming. Arthur wondered if this was what it was supposed to feel like. If this silent ache building in his chest was inevitable.

Lance had been gracious. He had kept his conversation light, if not a little guarded. Arthur had kept the smile on his face from wavering, making it his duty to see that Lance felt included, welcome, providing the structure they all needed to make it through the night. But now, Arthur catalogued what the evening had done to his wife – his wife who had done nothing but smile and ply Lance with warmth and now trembled quietly in her seat. For the first time in his life, Arthur didn’t know what to do. What Gwen expected from him. This was something she wouldn’t tell him either. 

The duvet lifted as she slipped into bed beside him and Arthur shifted on his side, letting his eyes trace her profile as Gwen stared up at the ceiling. Arthur swallowed, trying to think of what he could say to break the silence.  
Gwen turned her back to him. After a moment, he felt her shift, reach behind her and drag his arm over her waist. Arthur closed his eyes, pulling her tight against his chest.

Maybe he didn’t need to say anything, Arthur thought with a faint relief. Maybe this was enough.

**::**

Monday morning and Arthur still hadn’t settled himself or his wife. Gwen had spent Sunday pulling herself into a facsimile of herself that might pass inspection at work and Arthur dedicatedly consuming anything and everything she put in front of him. The very thought of eating another baked good made his stomach roll in protest.

Despite that, there was a quiche in the small office fridge and a box of muffins sitting perched on the edge of his desk that he was determined to ignore for the rest of his day. Perhaps he could pass it off on whomever he could during the lunch period or…Arthur sighed. He rubbed his eyes, reaching for the stack of folders his secretary has slipped into his inbox.

Agravaine’s was first. Arthur shuffled it to the back, vowing to deal with it later.

Three hours later, Arthur had had two meetings, no visitors and no one brave enough to eat his wife’s muffins, despite Arthur adamantly offering them. His father had certainly built a strange structural etiquette with his staff. Arthur linked his arms, loosing himself for a moment in the satisfying pull of muscles. He still hadn’t reviewed his uncle’s papers. He still didn’t want to. He thought about texting Gwen to see if she was free, but he knew she was scheduled for the day with Mithian going over legal terms for her new project.

He needed to get out.

Arthur knew he had responsibilities, and he knew despite his position in his father’s company, Agravaine would give him a lecture if he knew Arthur was putting off anything. But right then, Arthur didn’t care. He couldn’t. There was too much already on his plate and he needed fresh air, if only to clear his head.

Catriona, Uther’s secretary, covered her phone’s mouthpiece as Arthur passed, pulling his jacket on. “Accounts has been ringing after you.”

“Tell them I’ll get back to them before close – three?”

“Mr Pendragon will be in contact,” Catriona said crisply into the phone and hung up with a sharp click. She looked at Arthur, one arm caught in his jacket as he stared blankly at her. “Never give them a time,” she said by way of explanation. “They’re your employees, they should wait on your leisure. Believe me, it’s the method they are most comfortable with in this company.”

Arthur tugged his jacket into place. He nodded distractedly. “I’ll be out for lunch, then.”

He was only just beginning to understand the details of how his father’s company was structured. He knew Uther had been a difficult man to please, and had always had demanding expectations with regards to every aspect of his life. Being expected to continue his father’s standards however was proving to be a bit of a nightmare. Arthur wasn’t his father. He didn’t know how much longer he even wanted to pretend to be, even _‘for the sake of the company’_.

The day was sunnier than it had a right to be, what with all the thoughts plaguing Arthur’s mind; but turning his back on this to head back into the office later would be painful. London didn’t get many days of crisp sunshine, particularly in the early spring. Arthur glanced up at the high steel and glass façade of the Bank district. With a quick decision, he hailed a cab.

“Where to?”

Arthur drummed his fingers along the top of the black cab as he thought, bent over the cab’s window. “Camden Lock,” he said after a moment, not entirely sure why. He hadn’t been to Camden Town in years – it simply wasn’t in his daily schedule anymore. Gwen had loved hanging out in the smaller clubs and cafes that dotted the borough back when they were younger. She and Morgana had dragged him and Lance through the over-crowded markets and shops and Arthur remembered being _happy_ despite the sarcastic complaints and remarks he and Morgana had sniped back and forth. Camden had become one of _those places_ , too close to Lance and too close to the past for comfort.

The cab was driving up the City Road, just passing the Old Street roundabout when something caught Arthur’s eye. He told the cabbie to pull over, handing him twenty quid and not bothering to wait for change. His father’s nurse was rounding the corner, moving west with hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, head down and caught up in his own world.

Suddenly, Arthur didn’t want to wander alone anymore.

“Emrys! ...Merlin!” Arthur called down the street, not quite sure why he had the impulse in the first place. Arthur’s cab pulled away behind him. The dark-haired man spun at his name, scanning the street until his eyes landed on Arthur. When Merlin shot Arthur a smile, Arthur found he wasn’t overly concerned what his reasons were and he raised a hand to beckon the man over. Arthur checked his watch; he could take a few hours before he should check in with Agravaine. Hell, Catriona seemed to think it was something he was expected to do anyhow - he might as well make good use of the time.

Merlin made his way over, wrapped tight in an oversized brown jacket and bright red scarf to protect him against winter’s lingering chill. Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculous sight the man made. Arthur’s own grey wool coat had been tailored by a man named Emmanuel over on Saville Row. His scarf and gloves were a present from Morgana shipped from Italy, and alone likely cost more than everything Merlin was currently wearing combined. What a pair they would make, Arthur mused. 

“Are you free?” Arthur asked when Merlin came to a stop before him.

“I was just on my way to grab something to eat; my shift starts in about an hour,” Merlin said in confusion.

“Lunch sounds fantastic,” Arthur agreed, turning Merlin with one hand into a better position to walk along at Arthur’s side. “Wait, shift?” Arthur shot Merlin a frown.

“I didn’t say I’d go to lunch with you,” Merlin objected.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course you’ll go to lunch with me. You hardly look like you eat anything at all, at least this way I know you’re actually being fed.”

Merlin didn’t disagree, Arthur noted, though the man still held himself with a bit of a defensive posture as they walked. Arthur didn’t slow as they passed Whitecross Street, Merlin peering hopefully down the stalls wheeled out to feed the business men and women of the area.

“I didn’t think you started work until half five usually – and isn’t today your day off?” Arthur paused, peering in the glass of a cosy looking café next to a bicycle shop. _The Timber Yard_. He grabbed Merlin’s elbow when Merlin tried to walk past and steered him through the entrance.

“What –“ Arthur realized then that Merlin was likely used to just grabbing kebabs off the street and in the same moment Arthur held up a hand to silence Merlin and sort them a seat.

Arthur continued his self-appointed mission to feed Merlin as he guided Merlin to a low couch that lined the wall near the front windows and sat him down. “I’m certain that Alice won’t mind if you’re a few moments late. I’ll speak with her about today.”

“I meant my shift at the café.” Arthur stared at him blankly for a moment. Clearly Merlin knew what he said had made Arthur temporarily lose the ability to formulate speech because he added, “I work part-time at a café in Camden. A few hours here and there.”

“…but, why?” Arthur said before he really caught himself. 

Merlin’s face clouded over a bit and Arthur knew he had unintentionally hit a sore spot. “Not all of us have titles and trust funds.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, feeling more than a little wrong-footed. “That was rude of me. Come, I’ll make sure you get there on time.” The expression Merlin shot him at that was one that Arthur couldn’t decipher and decided it was best not to try.

Arthur made sure he ordered too much food, the baristas smiling indulgently and carrying over a square wooden tray overflowing with baked goods and panini that Arthur had no intention of touching - the stress eating away at his stomach left little room for hunger anyhow.

“Aren’t you the proud owner of a 9 to 5?” Merlin asked, snagging a giant biscuit and shooting Arthur a raise brow.

“My secretary told me to clear out,” Arthur said easily. He still hadn’t determined if Catriona was a blessing or a harpy – she certainly suited his father, back when he had an iron grip on everything he could reach.

“I don’t blame her,” Merlin said around his mouthful. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an overbearing prat?”

Arthur felt a grin creeping across his face; too few people in his life would _dare_ a retort like that. “You object to a free meal?”

“I object to a kidnapping.”

“How old _are_ you?” Arthur said in a scandalized tone. Merlin just grinned, stuffing his face.

Lunch with Merlin Emrys turned into a far more enjoyable experience than Arthur had anticipated. The man had a quick wit and, when Arthur managed to successfully not misstep during their conversations, proved to be far more interesting than anyone had a right to be in Arthur’s opinion. He honestly couldn’t remember hitting it off so well with anyone in their first real conversation – even Lance had taken _months_ to catch Arthur’s attention. Arthur had nursed his way through two coffees by the time Merlin finally looked at his wristwatch, and Arthur was rather surprised to find he was a bit disappointed. He didn’t have that many people to spend time with outside of work. He didn’t have that much _time_ outside of work to spend.

Arthur found he liked the idea of spending what time he did with someone like Merlin. He also found himself planning through his week to see when he might be able to make _more_ time to spend.

It was an unsettling thought.

**::**

Merlin grimaced, chasing after the taint, the oily shadow that skittered through Uther’s veins. It was faster than last week. It was…no, he was too _slow_ , Merlin realised. He was sluggish and not quite alert enough. He was letting it slip by him when he should have had it cornered. He _would_ have had it cornered. Merlin pushed a little harder, gave a little shove after his quarry and Uther’s body gave a jerk. Merlin dropped his magic so quickly he felt the lash back, stinging his skin.

He stayed frozen, watching Uther’s prone form with wide eyes, waiting to see if the man was awake, was conscious. He wasn’t, and Merlin felt like his own heartbeat would shake him apart. He reached out with trembling hands and carefully pressed two fingers against Uther’s pulse, terrified that he had gone too far, that something terrible had gone wrong. Merlin had to wait, counting his own heartbeats until he was calm enough to feel Uther’s. Faint, but steady.

Alice was right. He was getting sloppy. He was over extending himself. But Arthur…Merlin had just wanted to ease some of the strain from Arthur. The strange illness was so much smaller than it had been – Merlin was winning the battle, he had just thought if he pushed a little harder, he could end the war for good. His hand slithered back to his side, clenching and unclenching.

The rational part of his brain knew he would be useless if he was too tired to even know when he should stop. If he inadvertently _killed_ Uther trying to blot out the darkness. What would _that_ do to Arthur, Merlin scolded himself. The irrational part wanted to go back in – told him he _could_ do it, if he just tried _harder_. _Focused._  
  
Merlin needed to get away, he realised. Just for a time. Recuperate. Focus on something other than the light of Arthur and the taint in Uther and the darkness that felt like it was slowly creeping into his own soul.  
_  
__Damn_ Arthur. Damn him for making Merlin _care_ enough about this fading tyrant of a man that he would push his mother’s warnings, Gaius’ warnings, his own inner misgivings. But oh, how he wanted to see Arthur grin again – that open, brilliant smile that had Merlin rambling like a fool over coffee.

He needed to get away.

Uther was breathing. That was enough for now.

**::**

Arthur arrived in the evening with an arm full of files and the dour knowledge that his work days were dragging longer and longer these days despite his attempts to cut them back.

“Welcome back,” Arthur called up as he took the left staircase in his father’s foyer in stride, heading up to the master bedroom on auto pilot as he had for months. Owain Noble, one of Leon’s younger team members, was on duty and he greeted Arthur with a casual salute. The man had suffered a broken ankle and numerous abrasions during a mishap with a motorbike; Arthur had signed the papers himself to give the man a few weeks paid leave as it healed. Owain had been back on shift for a few days now, Arthur knew, but their schedules never seemed to align. Aside from a slight weight shift in Owain’s stance, he seemed himself again. “You’re back to standard, then?

“Nearly good as new.” Owain gave Arthur a grin.

“Good man.”

Owain nodded at the box still in Arthur’s hands. He had nearly forgotten about it. “Can you take this into the kitchen? Share it with the staff, if they’re about. Gwen’s been at the oven again.”

The grin Owain shot Arthur was full of anticipation. At least Gwen’s mad kitchen siege would find a good home that night, Arthur thought with satisfaction.

Uther was in his armchair staring out the window when Arthur entered. Merlin gave Arthur a tight nod from his place by the laundry and scampered off in a way that left Arthur frowning after him in confusion. Merlin was an odd creature at times, Arthur decided, now that he was really watching him.

Arthur settled himself into the other armchair he had dragged up to Uther’s rooms a few months back, opening his documents and uncapping his pen. It wasn’t just about Asctir anymore – new issues had been cropping up like wildfire across Camelot Holdings.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Arthur said conversationally as he started scanning for where he had left off back at the office. “I used to think that you just sat about in your office all day, shouting at your underlings and issuing verdicts to your court. But you had it all covered, didn’t you?”

Uther didn’t reply, but Arthur hadn’t expected he would. Over the weeks sometimes Arthur would speak over the silence during his visits and sometimes he would just sit in it.

“I think Catriona misses you at work,” Arthur added. He glanced across at his father’s profile, so familiar once and yet over the weeks somehow growing foreign before Arthur’s eyes. He was like a statue, staring out blankly at the expansive gardens and Arthur stifled a sigh, returning to his documents. Sitting like this, in near silence, with Uther had become part of Arthur’s life when one sided conversations had run dry.

An hour or so later, when Arthur re-emerged from his paper labyrinth, Uther still hadn’t moved. Arthur frowned, carefully watching for the rise and fall of Uther’s chest with an icy fist clenching his heart and a mild, fluttering panic building and prickling under his skin. What if Uther had died? What if Arthur had been so engrossed in his damn work that his father had died and he hadn’t even _noticed?_  
  
Uther was still breathing. 

Thank god. He was still breathing.

“ _Merlin?”_ Arthur called at the half closed door to the hall. “Merlin, come here.”

There was the sound of quick footfalls down the hardwood and Merlin all but barrelled into the room. “Ar – Sir, what is it?”

Arthur got to his feet, casting Uther one last worried look before padding over to the nervous nurse. Merlin never called him by name in Uther’s presence. It was almost as if Merlin believed Uther could still hear them in his condition – that he might be reprimanded for his casualness. In fact, as Arthur thought back on it, running long nights of speaking into the silence that surrounded his father through his mind, it had been Merlin that had first suggested Arthur talk to Uther to pass the time. A suggestion offered when Arthur was stressed and tired and wearing himself thin from work that Arthur hadn’t really listened to all those months ago, but somehow adopted nonetheless. _He misses conversation, I think_ , a fresh faced nurse had said when Arthur stumbled in a few nights after Gwen had started dropping him off after work. _Sometimes familiar sounds help the recovery_. Arthur wasn’t sure that his stories would count as ‘familiar’ to his father, but it soon became preferable to sitting alone in silence.

“I think my father is tired,” Arthur said. _I think my father is dying,_ his mind said. 

Merlin was helping Uther, despite all odds and whatever it was - Merlin could _save_ him, the irrational part of Arthur’s brain was whispering. Somehow, Arthur had the unshakeable faith that his scrawny strange little Merlin could do what no one else could, even though his rational side was telling him he was going to be shattered in the end. For a moment, Arthur very nearly gave in to the desire to plead to this man. Instead, he clenched his jaw and held Merlin’s eye until Merlin gave a tight nod and waited. Arthur realised belatedly that he had gripped Merlin’s arm and he let his hand drop quickly.

There were dark smudges beneath Merlin’s eyes, Arthur realised with concern. Now that he really looked, Merlin seemed exhausted, shoulders hanging lower than usual, his skin a little paler. Merlin hadn’t looked like that on Monday, had he? Arthur found himself catching up Merlin’s arm again as the man moved to see to Uther. “Are _you_ alright?” Arthur found himself asking.

Merlin looked a bit startled, eyes shifting between Uther and Arthur before shaking his head. “I’m fine.”  
_  
__You need to take care of yourself_ , Arthur wanted to say, but he just squeezed Merlin’s arm gently before releasing him. Merlin would think he was even madder than he already did, no doubt. 

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur said to Merlin’s back.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin’s voice came faintly after Arthur as he left the room. The small smile that spread across Arthur’s face felt a bit like peace.

**::**

Thursday evening, Arthur arrived exactly at seven. He handed off his briefcase and coat to the staff at the door, nodding to Owain at the head of the stairs wrapping around the sides of the foyer. 

When Arthur made his way to his father’s chambers, he was brought up short by the sight of Gaius bent over the large four-poster, stethoscope in hand. Arthur frowned. He realized he rarely ever saw Gaius these days – the old doctor had maintained that he was most useful with daily check-ins as opposed to continuous care which was why he had assigned Merlin to the house in the first place. Arthur had simply come to expect to see Merlin when Arthur came to visit. He was ashamed to think that not seeing the nurse might somehow throw his day off-kilter.

“Ah, Arthur,” Gaius folded up his stethoscope, straightening from his position. Uther seemed to be sleeping despite Gaius’ administrations. “Merlin told me to expect you around this time.”

So Merlin knew Arthur’s relative schedule. Arthur decided to ignore the strange swirl at that and said instead, “How is my father this evening?”

“Better, it would seem.” Arthur felt that tenuous swell of hope flickering at the back of his heart at Gaius’ words. He allowed himself to be ushered from the room by the old doctor, waiting patiently as Gaius pulled the door shut behind him. “His recovery seems almost as miraculous as his decline was unexpected. You must understand though that your father is well on in his years; we old men do not bounce back from illness the same as we would in our younger days.”

Arthur swallowed, holding his head high under Gaius’ knowing gaze. “My father is a strong man, Doctor. I have every faith that he can overcome this as well.”

Gaius nodded faintly. Arthur knew it for the placation it was – he had gone through enough of that sort of reaction over the past few months to last him a lifetime.

“Is Merlin about?” The question was out before Arthur had even thought it. Thoughts of the box downstairs stuffed full of Gwen’s continued kitchen siege were forefront in his mind. When she had suggested unburdening the horde on his father’s house staff, Arthur’s thoughts had immediately returned to Monday afternoon, watching Merlin talk animatedly, long fingers tearing apart scones. He had brought something to the house every day since just to see Merlin’s reaction.

“I sent him home an hour ago.” Gaius responded distractedly. “He is a young man, yet, and since Uther has been requiring less aid, I thought the Merlin deserved the evening off. He’s been working himself too thin lately.”

Arthur stamped down on the wave of disappointment that accompanied the news. He shouldn’t have. He’d seen Merlin on Monday and Wednesday evening – they hadn’t exchanged many words, but Merlin had smiled at him as he moved about his duties and Arthur couldn’t help the return smile that lasted the rest of the week - even Gwen had commented on his lighter mood. Arthur didn’t think he had been that obvious.

Merlin had looked exhausted the last time Arthur had seen him and Gaius knew Merlin better – Arthur had only really been taking notice the past week and had no idea what else might be weighing on the man’s mind. He supposed the old doctor might be right; Merlin should have a break. Between Merlin’s two jobs Arthur wondered just when Merlin had time to actually _live_.

“If he wants a vacation,” Arthur started, trying not to think about what that would mean – that Merlin wouldn’t be around for that many more days. “If he wants one, give it. I would rather he was alert and functioning.”

Gaius gave him a long look. “He won’t ask for one.”

The thought of seeing Merlin collapse the way his father had crept like a cold grip around his heart. “Make him take one,” Arthur said firmly.

**::**

Merlin’s dreams were full of restlessness and fire. He woke often, sweat drenching his sheets and fighting down the swell of nameless fear that gripped tight at his throat. He felt like he was going mad. He was jumping at shadows in his own flat. Sometimes, when he woke, he could feel the slithering _wrong_ sliding across his skin, making the bile rise in his throat. At times like those he prayed for the sun to rise faster, to be able to throw open his curtain and feel the light of the sun on his face. Instead, he would curl in the corner of his single bed, back pressed to the wall and every light in his flat flicked on until he passed out from exhaustion once more.

He hadn’t told Gaius. 

He’d come close to telling Alice, when the cloying feeling was clawing its way up his throat and she had asked him why he had lost himself staring into a candle’s flame. But he hadn’t. He’d shaken off his stupor and smothered the flame with an old brass cap. Alice had watched him carefully the rest of the night. Merlin had gone home as soon as he reasonably could.

Merlin sat on the edge of his bed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He mentally ran through his week, trying to figure out how he might use his hours off, if he could grab snatches here and there of time surrounded by people. If he could convince Gilli and George maybe to stay out with him a few nights, go out somewhere bright and loud to drown out the whispers brushing past his ears.

 _Sometimes darkness just seeps in, without help from anyone. Sometimes darkness is in the soul._  
  
He jumped when his phone started jangling. He stared at it blearily, wondering why anyone would be calling him just after seven. It took him two attempts to grab it from the wobbly nightstand and answer.

 _“Emrys, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,”_ Morgana’s voice came out crisply. Merlin frowned, wondering just what Morgana would accept as a ‘bad time’ if just gone seven in the morning wasn’t.

“Ms Vivienne?” he asked belatedly. It wasn’t his fault – she’d never called him before, the thought that she would be now was perplexing.

“ _This is important. I’m going to give you an address, Emrys, and you’ll need to write this down.”_

“What?” Merlin’s haze was starting to lift and he lumbered to his feet, casting about for something that constituted as writing materials. “Has something happened?”

 _“15 Saint Mary Abbot’s Place,”_ she said in response. “ _It’s in Kensington. Have you got that?”_  
  
“Is Ar-Uther alright?” Merlin asked.

There was a pause and Merlin started imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios to fill the void until Morgana said, “ _He’s fine._ _I’m going to be making some arrangements, but you need to be at that address. My PA Elaine will contact you with further details.”_  
_  
_ “What is this about?” 

“ _Business, Emrys. I have a deadline approaching and a photographer who’s acting like a petulant child.”_  
_  
_ “I have a job, Morgana,” Merlin began.

 _“Don’t worry, it will be sorted,”_ Morgana said with a sort of finality that seemed to suggest that it already _was._

Merlin was left staring blankly at his phone wondering just what the hell had happened.

**::**

“They’re out in the garden, Sir,” Owain intercepted Arthur on his way upstairs, a folded blanket over one arm. As a security detail, Owain really had no business playing fetch and carry for anyone, but Arthur rather suspected Merlin was a root cause of this incident and found he couldn’t blame Owain for being unable to refuse him. 

When Arthur registered what the man had actually said, he paused mid-step. “My father is _outside_?”

“I believe the doctor mentioned the benefits of open air during his last visit,” Owain agreed. “The young nurse seems to have decided to implement this plan.”

“Here,” Arthur relieved the man of his blankets with a bit of dazed confusion. “I’ll take it out.”

Arthur could hardly believe, after months of keeping vigil by his father’s beside, that he would ever see Uther outside his chambers again. He barely remembered what it was like, his father superimposed over different scenery. 

“How did he…” Arthur knew his father would never have borne the humiliation of being carried downstairs like some fainting maiden, even for the chance to escape the confines of his room.

Owain grinned, keeping pace with Arthur as they made their way to the back door. “That’s the fantastic part. Emrys gave him a hand down the stairs.”

Arthur found the concept rather difficult to digest let alone imagine.

The sight of Uther Pendragon ensconced in a large wicker chair by the back walk gave Arthur more pause than he would ever admit. The dark head of Merlin was bent in conversation with one of the gardeners a few yards to the right, and Owain gave Arthur a nod before moving to join them. Arthur appreciated the illusion of privacy they had given him while he pulled himself together.

Arthur draped the blanket over Uther’s shoulders. He moved to crouch at Uther’s side. “You look well, Father.” When Uther didn’t respond, Arthur continued, “I had a drink with Lance DuLac the other day. You remember him, the lad from the Council Estates you always thought was a poor influence? He came back from the dead.”

He fell silent, his eyes drifting over to where Merlin was laughing quietly with Owain.

“Your mother loved snap dragons.”

Arthur’s eyes darted to his father’s face. The voice had been so soft he nearly thought he had imagined it. “Pardon?”

Uther didn’t reply, but his eyes were on Arthur’s face and for the first time in a year Arthur felt with certainty that Uther was truly watching him.

Arthur knew he was threatening to break, but he was a Pendragon, and Uther had never accepted weakness in his son. Damned if he fell to pieces now.

**::**

As Arthur sat behind Uther’s great mahogany desk, hands flat against the wood and surrounded by the dark panelling of the walls and perfectly aligned fountain pens to his right, he felt the weight of responsibility settle like a mantle about his shoulders. A mantle weighted down with years of Uther’s firm command. Here was the knowledge that more than just Arthur’s life was controlled by the actions taken at this piece of wood, responsibility that whispered, insidious, against his palms.

When Arthur had first stepped into his father’s role all those months ago, he had asked his father’s secretary, Catriona, to send down a request to the departments for more information on what Uther had been working on. Arthur chipped away at his own duties when he could, but found he was mostly delegating those to others when available, giving Valiant the more aggressive clients and Vivian the ones needing persuasion. Agravaine had the Accounting Department send up boxes of documents for Arthur to wade through in addition to what the other department heads had uncovered; back-logged files and accounts Arthur had been meaning to sort and work through ever since he had first begun. The work had kept Arthur occupied for nearly twelve hours a day and often he was bringing work home to finish. Uther had worsened and Arthur was still burying himself in his work.

That had stopped when Gaius had confined Uther to bed rest, more because Uther could barely move than because Gaius had any sort of control over the Lord Pendragon. Gwen had dragged Arthur out of the office one afternoon, driven him to his father’s home and planted him before the door to his father’s chambers. Arthur had been so preoccupied with work, he’d had no idea just how poor Uther’s condition had become. Morgana knew, of course. She had been over at least a few times each week if Leon was to be believed.

That was when Arthur first started realizing it was only a matter of time.

Gaius had told them there was nothing he could do for Uther. He could give his father pain medication for his joints and a prescribed diet to keep his vitamin levels high but overall Gaius merely said to keep Uther comfortable. The first time Uther had spent the entire day unconscious, Arthur had asked Gaius to test for anything and everything he could think of. No tests had given up an answer. A week later, Gaius had brought in his wife, Alice to help care for Arthur’s father. A month after that, when it was clear Uther had reached a stable low, Merlin Emrys had been given a position as part-time caregiver, attending to basic needs most evenings. 

Now with Guinevere’s aid, Arthur’s days were carefully divided into work and home. He delegated more often than he would have liked, but Arthur knew it was necessary. Agravaine had been immensely helpful. Arthur’s uncle had a keen business sense and knew exactly how Uther liked to run his company; an invaluable knowledge honed through thirty years of service, seeing Camelot built from the ground up. Without Agravaine, Camelot under Arthur’s reign would likely have folded in a matter of months.

The documents he held now were the deciding factors in the future of a company that had been with Camelot for nearly three decades. It was perhaps one of the most important decisions Arthur had made this past year, and he had finally run out of time to ignore the problem. No matter how long he looked at the figures before him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this time he needed to be sure. Asctir was failing. Asctir was failing, but if Arthur let them fall, thousands of men and women would be left with nothing. It was a decision Arthur wasn’t certain he could make.

Agravaine, it seemed, had already made his own decision on the matter. Papers for the sale of Asctir were attached inside the front of the file folder, already sanctioned and reviewed by Camelot’s attorneys. All that remained was for Arthur to sign the copies and have Catriona courier them over to Aglain in the morning. The lives and fortunes of so many lay waiting in his father’s fountain pen.

Arthur put the file down. His hand froze as it reached for the pen, however, eyes drifting over the piles of folders and boxes that still ringed his desk. In that moment, the memory of Agravaine leaning over his shoulder, a calm confident voice speaking of duty, of precedent. Arthur decided then that he owed it to Aglain and his employees to do his own footwork; he would never be able to face Guinevere, anyhow, if hedidn’t.

“Catriona?” Arthur pressed down the intercom on his father’s phone. “I will not be seeing anyone today, unless they are my wife or Morgana. Reschedule my appointments for the next two days and connect me to Asctir Holdings. Aglain’s extension.”

Agravaine likely wouldn’t approve, but then Agravaine didn’t need to know.

**::**

__  
_“The documents are forgeries.”_  
  
It was the same thing Aglain had claimed before. After nearly three hours of speaking to him over the phone the past few days, Arthur had agreed to courier copies of his documents to Aglain. Arthur rubbed a hand across the bridge of his nose, phone cradled against his shoulder. 

“They came directly from your courier,” Arthur said. He wanted to leave the office – go hunting in Camden for Merlin’s mysterious café and goad the man into going out for dinner. Go hunting for something he was missing, but could never seem to pin down. Maybe he could call Lance and convince Gwen to put aside her crusade for now and they could all spend time together.

Arthur hurled his father’s bespoke pen across the office when he realised for a brief moment he was trying to orchestrate ways to take Merlin on a double date with his wife and best friend. This had to stop.  
__  
_“So you said. You should know I turned down those contracts on moral grounds,”_ Aglain said, and Arthur was left wondering what the man was talking about. As far as Arthur knew, there had been no proposed contracts over the past year beyond the extension of the projects Asctir already managed. _“I should like to speak with you in person – do you have time this afternoon?”_  
  
Arthur glanced at the day planner open beside him, marked up in Catriona’s neat handwriting of all Uther’s engagements. He knew his father had always kept two separate planners, one left for Catriona to organize, the other kept tucked inside his suit jacket close to his heart, filled with the places he actually intended to be. Arthur knew about the other, but he had never seen inside it. He wondered if clandestine dealings like these had been what shaped Uther into the paranoid tycoon he had become. Had there really been people plotting to undermine Uther’s reign, feeding him false information like he had thought?

“Yes,” Arthur said after a moment, firmly, wondering if he was going to have to start questioning everything he had been told going forward. Wondering if he was going to have to question everything he had been told in the past.

Catriona gave him a measured look as he past and Arthur ignored her, pulling on his jacket. He had been doing that more often lately and he had stopped caring how it might come off. Once this was finished, then he would work at interoffice relations.

**::**

Uther was sitting by his window when Arthur arrived that evening, later than usual. He didn’t react as Arthur pulled a chair up beside him, but then Arthur had grown used to that. There was a weathered wooden cane propped against the dark red armchair and a carafe of water on the side table, still full.

Arthur had spent an exhausting afternoon with Aglain discussing the future of Asctir. The things he had uncovered made Arthur wish that his father was well enough to hold a conversation, if only to ask him to shed some light on it all. What Asctir’s function was, what some of the contracts that had gone missing had been for. By the end of their meeting, all Arthur had wanted to do was collapse on his couch at home with a glass of red wine – but it was a week night, and Arthur’s father was waiting.

Alice was moving about briskly in the room, shaking out sheets and plumping pillows. Merlin had taken a few days off this week, according to Owain. Arthur was glad. He hoped Merlin was off visiting his mother, taking the time to recover from whatever stress had been building in his thin frame. From what Merlin had said over their one lunch, his mother was all the way out in Newport, and he rarely got the chance to return. Arthur wondered if Gaius had insisted, like he had asked. 

“Gaius says you’re on the mend,” Arthur said into the silence, watching his father’s face for a response. “You’ve got the strong Pendragon blood. We can’t be defeated.”

Uther’s gaze had shifted to look out the window, his hands curling against his armrests.

“Gwen’s charity gala is coming up.” Arthur reached out, pouring a glass of water for himself and one for Uther. He pressed it into Uther’s hands, curling his father’s fingers around the cut glass and holding it there until he is certain Uther won’t drop it. “She’s been working so hard on pulling everything together. You would like it. She’s found a proper swing band that knows all the classics.”

Over the months of Uther’s illness, Arthur had developed a habit of speaking in a way he had never expected. It was liberating, in its own way. Arthur supposed it might be what it felt like to have a normal family life, one where he wasn’t always censoring himself to his father’s expectations and disapproval. He shared small things, things Uther had never asked after and probably didn’t care to hear. Last year, Uther wouldn’t have cared to know that Arthur had fixed the plumbing in their upstairs bathroom himself or that Gwen had finally mastered the perfect lemon tart. Uther wouldn’t have sat about to listen to Arthur speak about how he felt he was slowly drifting apart from Morgana – about how he no longer knew what to pick up for her to make her smile on her birthday, or if he should just give up and give her spa vouchers so she might choose herself.

“Godwyn’s even pledged his support,” Arthur continued. “On the promise that pudding this year is a layered chocolate torte, apparently. Elena must be home again.” He wondered vaguely if Uther would have agreed to join them this year, had he been well. It wasn’t likely, Uther usually just sent a cheque in his place whenever he was invited to a charity event – the rare occasions he appeared were when he felt the resulting PR was high enough to warrant spending any actual time with his peers. The thought of Uther appearing in public in a wheelchair, frail and crumbling wasn’t something Arthur could even consider, even if he desperately wanted to force his father back into his old life. 

“Take the Aston.” Uther voice was thin from misuse and there was a soft clatter behind them where Alice had no doubt been startled. Arthur didn’t bother a glance. Uther hadn’t had an Aston in years. Arthur hadn’t had to borrow Uther’s cars since sixth form. The chance to get behind the wheel of Uther’s Aston then would have been an unfathomable experience.

Arthur swallowed hard and gave a sharp nod as Uther’s eyes drifted to settle on him with an unexpected focus.

**::**

“What in the blazes –” Merlin barely glanced up at Gaius’ entrance. He had nearly determined the perfect filing system for Gaius’ patient records. Everything was colour co-ordinated and dated and alphabetized. And he’d even done it without prompting. He flinched when Gaius flicked off the large Anglepoise lamp Merlin had set up and twisted his way followed by the overhead flood lamps they used in the evenings.

“Merlin, you are under orders to get some rest,” Gaius said with exasperation. He set down his satchel with a firm hand and marched over to where Merlin was shuffling through documents. He snatched them out of Merlin’s too slow grasp and shot Merlin a decidedly unimpressed look.

“I don’t need –”

“Under orders, Merlin,” Gaius repeated. “It’s not about what you think you need, or will admit you need. Pick up more shifts at the café if you need to work, but for god’s sake get out of my office and stop creating a mess.”

Merlin swallowed hard, letting his hands drop to his knees.

“Is there something the matter, boy?” Gaius’ voice lowered, peering at Merlin with speculation. “Arthur’s given you holiday leave – a young man like you should be enthused to know he’s getting full wages without having to lift a finger.”

“That’s great,” Merlin said quickly. _Sometimes the worst of us are the best at hiding it,_ Alice’s voice whispered in the back of his mind. “Of course, that’s…that’s very kind of him.”

“Well, go on then.” Gaius made a shooing motion that had Merlin scrambling to his feet.

Gaius was right. If even Arthur had begun to see that Merlin wasn’t alright, despite his claims, then he really did need to take a step back. Being near Uther was draining him – Merlin had started getting dizzy taking the stairs and losing the thread of conversations midsentence. He hadn’t slept properly in over a week. Being near Arthur staved it off somewhat, but Arthur was so rarely away from Uther that his presence wasn’t so much helping Merlin’s condition as slowing the effects.

What he needed to do was get Arthur away; spend time with him outside of work and…and Merlin knew how well _that_ idea was going to go over. Arthur was busy and important and married. Arthur might have time for friends, but Merlin had never been good at hiding things through prolonged exposure. Pretty soon Arthur would figure out that Merlin fancied the pants off him. When that happened, Merlin was fairly confident it would put him in a worse off place than before.

Merlin stood awkwardly, casting about for something to anchor himself. He didn’t have anywhere to go – Gilli couldn’t afford to have Merlin working more often anymore, and Merlin’s neighbours had already let him know that cranking his radio up to distract himself wasn’t going to fly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, partly to feign a casual air under Gaius’ scrutiny, partly to hide the trembling in his arms.

His fingers scraped across paper. 

He pulled it out, staring down without really comprehending. It was his own scrawl – a bit of paper torn off an old _Evening Standard,_ worn down and soft beneath his touch. 

He had nearly forgotten about it. He _did_ have somewhere he could go.

Merlin just didn’t know if it was a good idea.

**::**

Merlin checked the slip of paper again squinting down at the sloppy address. He glanced up at the gate. He peered over his shoulder towards the mouth of the cul de sac. Before him was a massive red brick house that looked as though it could have fit four of his family home on its ground floor – and it stretched at least three stories, if not four in places. The front was angled and covered in a thick ivy coat, half hiding the brown wooden door. There was a bright red motorbike sitting lazily in the drive.

 _The House at the End_ read the sign by the door. Merlin squared his shoulders and rapped sharply with the brass knocker. The door opened before Merlin had a chance to change his mind and Merlin found himself staring at a roguish model of a man that gave him a clear once over before dragging Merlin bodily over the threshold.

“He’s here,” the man shouted, pulling Merlin along after him. Merlin got flashes of house – a huge staircase, framed photos both in clusters and in perfectly squared off magazine-home arrangements. The man was wearing a black button down that was open at the collar and a pair of pressed trousers and Merlin very dearly wished he would _stop dragging him_.

When he did, Merlin stumbled, irritated but grateful when man absentmindedly righted him.

“Right. Isolde, you have fifteen minutes,” he clapped his hands together in a worrying, almost gleeful manner and shot Merlin a grin. Suddenly there was a woman that looked like a blond Laura Croft in Merlin’s space, pulling at his clothes and frowning at his hair. 

“What – _stop that_!” Merlin swatted at the hands that seemed to have multiplied improbably. “Who _are_ you?”

“You’re Morgana’s Merlin, yeah?” the man had produced a large camera from somewhere and was fiddling with the lens. “Gwaine Knight. This lovely lady is Isolde Cornwall – don’t get any ideas, you’ll be meeting her eternal squeeze Tris in a tick.”

“You’d best watch yourself, lad,” Isolde said with an amused tone. “Knight’s not afeared of Vivienne, and she’s talked you up to be quite the catch.”

“Bit hard to be caught without the right bait,” Merlin muttered, wondering in mild alarm just when Isolde had managed to remove his belt without him noticing. He didn’t miss the way Gwaine’s grin impossibly widened. Merlin wondered with no small amount of fear what he had gotten himself into.

**::**

As Merlin sat on the wide wooden staircase doing his best not to crease the dark trousers or smudge whatever the blond woman had done to his face, Merlin found himself thinking about Arthur. He wasn’t supposed to be. He was supposed to be using this break to do anything but, because thinking about Arthur was why he was having these waking nightmares dogging his steps in the first place.

Merlin wondered if Arthur had got off work yet. If there was still a frown marring the space between his eyebrows over the papers he always carted about with him or if he had emerged victorious from whatever battles he was fighting. Not thinking of Arthur was always going to be a losing battle for Merlin.

Arthur, with his strong shoulders and unbowed back, was like a beacon of light in the darkness – like he would stand firm against the world until the world crumbled to dust. A beacon of light that had started making Merlin’s magic uncurl and stretch toward him like a living thing. It terrified Merlin.

Merlin looked at the massive stage lights Gwaine’s team had erected in the entrance hall. He swivelled, catching sight of the long shadow that swept behind him. In a blink, it was gone – someone had flipped on another set of lights and another until the shadow was only a memory.

A thought struck Merlin with a detached horror. A bright light, a dark shadow. The darkness in Uther – was Arthur the cause of it, or his proximity feeding it? There was something different about Arthur, something about his presence that wasn’t anything like Leon’s or Owain’s, like he was something _more_. But being near Arthur chased _away_ the darkness seeping into Merlin. Maybe he was like _all_ the lights combined, obliterating the shadows, but these shadows were too thick, too dark.

Uther hadn’t started to improve until after Arthur had started visiting – maybe Merlin’s hunting about wasn’t doing _anything_. Maybe it was _Arthur._ Maybe he was poisoning himself for nothing. But if he stopped, and if he was _wrong_ …

And he wasn’t supposed to be _thinking about Arthur._

“Emrys, we need to run some lighting blocks for the first set, and then we’ll go from there,” Gwaine called down from higher on the stairs, camera in hand. He had started snapping pictures the moment he handed Merlin off to Isolde without warning. Merlin wondered just what he had gotten himself into. He could only imagine what his mother would have to say if startled, half-dressed pictures of her lanky pale son started showing up in her ladies mags – somehow he had thought there was more to it than this.

A few minutes later Merlin was startled out of his thoughts by Gwaine casually slumping to the stairs next to him, elbows braced loosely on his knees. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Merlin gestured with one hand at the lighting and diffusers and coils of wire piled up about the hall. “I thought all this happened in a studio.”

Gwaine gave a chuckle. “Studios and I don’t get on well. Converted one of the back rooms on the off chance I’d need one again, but mostly it gathers dust. I photograph life. Life doesn’t much happen in staged environments.”

“You’re staging it now.”

“The lass needs a couple specific arrangements, true. That’s the leash working in the fashion industry gives you sometimes.” Gwaine reached over and tugged at the ends of Merlin’s trousers. “You’re trying not to get mussed up, aren’t you?”

“I –“ Merlin cut off with a yelp when Gwaine’s hand clamped down on his head and gave it a good ruffling.

“If I wanted a doll, I’d have bought one.” Gwaine studied him sideways before saying, “Morgana said you were holding out on her – what made you change your mind?”

 _Being near Arthur is killing me_ , Merlin thought, _and_ _I didn’t want to be alone._ He said instead, “Morgana made a compelling argument.” 

Gwaine didn’t look like he believed Merlin, but he didn’t push. “I’m glad you did. Morgana was right.”

Merlin didn’t have time to ask him what he meant by that because Gwaine had pushed himself to his feet, retreating once more behind the lens of his camera.

**::**

“You bought tickets to the opera,” Gwen said dryly, holding an opened envelope in one hand.

“Yes,” Arthur said without looking up from his morning paper.

“You hate the opera,” Gwen said. Arthur could tell from the corner of his eye that she still hadn’t moved. “You said sitting through people singing out their lives was worse than being taped to a chair and forced to watch nothing but Jeremy Kyle reruns until your eyes bled.”

“In my defence, it was a really bad opera. And Arsenal was playing.”

“Tickets,” Gwen reminded him.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t go,” Arthur said easily. “You’d best find someone else who has an appreciation for the Art _. Tristan und Isolde_ , the box office said. Know anyone who likes German renditions of British romances? Or are they French…”

The sound of his mobile cut through the kitchen and Arthur held up a hand to stave off Gwen’s response with a smug smile. Gwen gave him a look that clearly said she wasn’t nearly finished with him yet.

“Morning, Lance.” _It’s Lance_ , Arthur mouthed helpfully before continuing. “I’m so glad you called back, I’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“Arthur, I’m warning you,” Gwen said and Arthur dutifully ignored her.

“I’ve made a horrible mistake and double booked myself early next month. Yes. If I recall correctly, you like Wagner, don’t you?” Arthur paused, glancing over his shoulder to see why the kitchen had gone quiet. Gwen had disappeared. “Brilliant,” he said, eyes widening as Gwen came marching back into the room brandishing one of the cushions from the living room. “Gwen says she doesn’t mind going alone, but –“ Arthur let out a muffled grunt as he was thwumped by Gwen, and he raised his free arm to fend off her assault. “Exactly. Don’t want the ticket going to waste; Gwen will be right chuffed I’m sure. You’ll be by Thursday for drinks? Right. Ta.”

Arthur oomphed as he hung up, Gwen’s final attack hitting him square in the face. 

“What has gotten _into_ you?” Gwen demanded.

Arthur shot her a bland look. He snatched her stuffed weapon of choice away with a quick tug. “You like opera.”

“You know what I mean.”

“The performance isn’t until after your gala, that’s a week or more,” Arthur said reasonably. “Whether your objection is based on an intense dislike for this particular show, or you object to going to a performance with a long lost friend, I don’t know –“

“It’s not that –“ Gwen interrupted.

“- but perhaps by then you will have had time to think about it,” Arthur finished. Gwen folded her arms and stared hard at him as he pushed away from the table. Arthur ran his hands down her shoulders, giving her arms a small reassuring rub. “It’s because I want a favour,” he added.

Gwen continued to stare.

Arthur felt for a moment like telling her about Merlin to ease her mind – telling her _what_ about Merlin, he wasn’t certain. Instead, he pushed the thought away, quirking his lips in a half smile. “I want your brilliant mind. Besides, you’ve been wanting to go see this since the season brochure was delivered last fall, and I don’t want you to go alone.”

“Has this to do with the stack of papers sitting on the island you keep frowning at?” Gwen asked with suspicion.

“Might do,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Gwen nodded. “Right.” 

Arthur watched as Gwen walked over to the counter by the stove, picking up a cooling rack stacked with chocolate chip biscuits. “Just so you know, I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

He steeled himself as she approached.

**::**

Gwen settled herself into a more comfortable position, her feet burying themselves under Arthur’s thigh, content for now to be distracted. “I’ve been going over them for hours now. This stack,” Gwen gestured to the pile next to Arthur’s right knee, “is of Aglain’s documents you picked up in person. And these,” her hand encompassed the papers sorted neatly across the floor, “are the copies you brought back last night.”

“Agravaine said Aglain’s been in the red for months now. Was he right?” Arthur picked up the top file, scanning the figures.

“If he’s working from your files, yes. Aglain’s documents claim that Asctir Holdings has turned a large profit margin for the last three quarters. Both file sets are working from the same letterhead but –“

“One of them has been tampered with,” Arthur finished.

“It would seem that way. If Aglain is right, selling Asctir off at the proposed rate would lose Camelot a great deal of revenue. Either way, if you’re going to sell it, it’s worth an astronomical amount more in pieces anyhow. Cut it apart, sell it to the highest bidder, not this package deal that’s been proposed. If Aglain is padding the books, which he certainly had time to do between your request and giving over the files, keeping the company would be financially draining for no real gain. The man could just be covering his own rear. As far as I can tell, Camelot hasn’t been seeing _any_ of that profit so if one looks at the numbers, it would seem as though the latter is the way of things,” Gwen said unhappily.

“But you don’t think that’s so,” Arthur hedged, watching his wife’s face carefully.

“Well, I’ve met Aglain.” Gwen set her files aside, leaning forward and wrapping her arms about her knees. Arthur hooked an arm over the back of the sofa, angling to meet her head on. “He’s a good man. I don’t see him as the sort to falsify documents just to carry on with a failing business, do you?”

“I suppose not. Most men willing to forge documents have an offshore account and a back door waiting,” Arthur conceded. “However, Aglain has a family to support. If he’s having financial difficulties, desperate men make desperate mistakes.”

“I think the question you need to consider is: who benefits most from Camelot selling off a successful Asctir?”

Arthur frowned, thumb idly stroking the cushion as he thought. Any financial transactions had to have run through Camelot’s accounting department. That meant, either his accountants had been fed the wrong numbers or someone on the inside was fabricating new ones and syphoning off the excess. If he believed that Asctir was profitable, the question was what had happened to that money?

From his afternoon with Aglain, Arthur was inclined to believe that something bigger than just profit margins was going on. Aglain seemed to think that the whole matter was manufactured because he had refused to sign on to a series of military contracts that would have seen Asctir providing research and trials for something Aglain couldn’t identify. From what Aglain had suggested, Camelot had been brokering deals to start into biological weapons – something Arthur couldn’t even fathom in the scope of Uther’s company. Aglain hadn’t been able to find the documents that had been proposed in the fall, but he had been adamant enough they had existed that Arthur was forced to believe that _something_ had. He desperately wished to see those contracts.

What he should do was haul Agravaine up and demand to know what the hell was going on at least in the accounting department. Phantom contracts or no, something was going on in Camelot that Arthur had no control over. The only thing that was stopping him was the suspicion that if Agravaine was at the heart of that, he wouldn’t get a straight answer – but if he was embezzling vast cash sums, why would he sell off his cash cow? If Agravaine wasn’t party to this and went rooting about on his own – if it went deeper, Arthur wanted to find it before the responsible party went to ground. And there was still the matter of the terminated accounts. 

“I just want you to know,” Gwen said with a straight face, “that in no way am I going to be hacking into Camelot’s accounting files tomorrow night at midnight, and am absolutely not making copies of what I may or may not find there with regards to financial exchanges and payouts over the past few years.”

“Thank you. And I will not be leaving access codes and security protocols on your night stand.” Arthur smiled, catching Gwen’s hand and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “You are a wonder with paperwork and I am lucky to have you on my side.”

If this had been a night weeks earlier, before Lance’s miraculous return from the dead, before learning a thing about the life of the man changing his father’s sheets, Arthur knew he would have pulled Gwen into his arms. They would have laughed, Gwen protesting about having an early start tomorrow and Arthur would have swept her off her feet and dropped her atop their bed. A few weeks ago, they had been discussing trying for a child. Now, Arthur found it wasn’t what he wanted from the night. From the smallest of shadows at the back of Gwen’s eyes, he knew she felt the same. 

Arthur shot her a soft smile, bracketing her face and pressing a short kiss to her forehead. “It’s been a rough week. Sleep sounds like heaven.”

**::**

_  
__“Arthur, how soon can you get here?”_ Leon’s voice broke over Arthur’s mobile at five that morning. Arthur let out an involuntary grunt, running a rough hand over his face before his mind caught up that it was Leon phoning him. Leon, who was responsible for the security of his Father’s household and general personnel.

Quite quickly, Arthur was fully awake, sitting upright with a worried Gwen rubbing circles between his shoulders. “What’s happened? My father –“  
__  
_“Your father is safe. It’s Owain.”_  
  
Arthur was out of bed then, and Gwen was silently handing him a pair of trousers. He was pulling them on, keeping his mobile pinned against his shoulder as Leon related what he knew, which admittedly wasn’t much. There had been an incident at his father’s home, some property damage, no identified theft, one casualty.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Arthur promised, fingers tangling as he buttoned his shirt. Gwen batted his hands away and redid them deftly. “For the love of god, keep Morgana away from the scene. I can only imagine what effect something like this might have on her.”

He shoved the mobile into his pocket as Gwen helped him into a blazer. “What’s happened?”

Arthur paused, frowning as he spun searching for his wallet only for Gwen to hand it to him a moment later. “There was a break-in, I’m going to go sort out what happened.”

“Arthur,” Gwen’s voice brooked no argument.

“…Owain Noble intercepted them. He…he was a good man.” Arthur leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Gwen’s forehead, remembering Owain in the back garden smiling alongside Merlin. “I might not be back for dinner.”

Gwen pulled on a dressing gown, following him down the stairs. “So much for having a lie in.”

When Arthur arrived at his father’s home twenty minutes later, the police had already cordoned off the area and he had to wait for Leon and a DCI Pellinore to escort him into the house. He swallowed hard, setting his jaw when he caught sight of the scene in the foyer. Owain’s body was at a broken angle, clear for anyone looking that he had taken a fall from the second floor balcony at the head of the twin stairs. His body was surrounded by a SOCO team, none of whom paid Arthur any mind. 

“Our man puts time of death around 1am. Cause listed as a fall from second floor, though he may have been dead before hitting the ground.” Pellinore scanned the notes his team had assembled. “Body identified as Owain Noble was found by security staff around three when the victim did not check in with his relief.” 

“He was pushed?” Arthur said carefully, averting his eyes to stare at Leon before shifting to the sergeant at his side. A few little number markers had taken up residence around the area, photographers carefully sidestepping everyone to document the scene.

“By a great force, as far as we can tell,” Pellinore replied, pointing up to the balcony where three men were busy measuring and recording what they had found. “We’re going to have to get the body to forensics for further analysis, but what I’m being told is that there is massive bruising along the victim’s front and indication of numerous crushed bones, not all of which can be accounted for by the fall alone.”

Arthur squinted, seeing for the first time that the wooden balustrade looked as if it had splintered under impact. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would take for that sort of damage. His thoughts were stuck somewhere around the ridiculousness of an escaped rhino on the second floor. 

Leon moved to open the French doors into the dining room, which Arthur was grateful for, and they made their way into the space. “My father is still in his rooms?”

“Lord Pendragon is fine. His consulting physician is with him now,” Pellinore replied. 

Gaius, then. With any luck Merlin was still fast asleep. Arthur would have to call him, try to keep Merlin away from the house for a few days more until the police had cleared out and they could begin repairs. Maybe Gaius had already done so – he would have to ask. “And Morgana? How is she taking it?”

“She’s in the guest room,” Leon nodded to the sergeant, a clear dismissal.

Merlin wouldn’t be in, Arthur realised distantly as Pellinore said something more that Arthur had stopped listening to. Merlin had time off. Gods, the man had been on his last legs before, what would he be like now when he heard the news? The two had been friends, of a sort.

DCI Pellinore was a good man. Arthur remembered him vaguely from his wedding, a friend of Gwen, or Gwen’s brother Elyan. He couldn’t have asked for a better choice to be dealing with something this close to home; Arthur had no doubt that Pellinore would keep the press quiet for as long as possible.

“Sir,” Pellinore nodded to Arthur. “You may be required to give a statement with everyone else once we’ve concluded our initial investigations. Please remain on the premise.”

“Of course,” Arthur raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temple distractedly. 

Leon had assured Arthur that he had sorted out with the police to allow Arthur onto the premises. Lord Pendragon had always been an influential figure in British politics, and as future Lord Pendragon, that respect had filtered down in its own way to include Arthur. With Arthur handling most of his father’s affairs in Uther’s illness, as far as most were concerned, Arthur was already Lord Pendragon in all but name. Pellinore’s appointment to lead on the case just eased the way.

“Morgana slept through the whole thing. I suspect by now she’s roaring for answers since everyone was on strict orders to keep her in her chambers,” Leon remarked once Pellinore had returned to the crime scene. “I believe she last ordered a tea service that included a plate of strawberries and more brandy than tea.”

“You should get her out of here, take the back entrance.” Arthur crossed his arms. 

“Sir?”

“The guest rooms are at the back of the house. Morgana has been taking sleeping pills since she was at school, there’s nothing she can add to an investigation. I will sort things out with Pellinore, but I doubt even he can argue that Morgana had the strength to do…that.” Arthur waved a hand in the direction of the foyer. “The last thing Morgana needs at this moment is to be dragged into a murder investigation during her visit – this house has enough stress in it already.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Leon promised.

**::**

“Can you state your name for the record?”

Arthur had found himself ushered into Uther’s kitchen a half hour later by a short, dark-haired policewoman, right about the time that it kicked in that there was a dead man in his father’s front entrance. That the dead man was Owain.

“Arthur Pendragon,” he stated, arms crossed. The counter he leaned against was supporting most of his weight. He wondered if they had contacted Owain’s sister yet – if that was his responsibility now. He should call her. No…he should drive to Richmond and tell her in person.

“Was there anything removed from the premises?”

Arthur frowned as he processed the question that seemed to echo in through the distance. Leon had already addressed that, hadn’t he? “No. As far as I can determine, none of my father’s valuables have been stolen.”

The young police woman scratched something into her notepad and carried on. “Have there been any threats in the past to the victim, to the Lord Pendragon or any other individuals that reside, work or regularly visit in the estate?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“According to the accounts of the house staff, the regular care of the Lord Pendragon during the evening is provided by one Merlin Emrys – was he scheduled on the night in question?”

“He had the night off by request.” Gods, _Merlin_. Merlin could have been there that night. If Arthur hadn’t insisted, Merlin could have _been there_.

“Has he worked here long?” the woman pressed. “Long enough perhaps to know the schedule –“

Arthur straightened, shooting a hard stare at the officer. “Merlin Emrys is not related to this incident. The man couldn’t break a twig, let alone cause the amount of damage sustained –“

“Still, all lines of inquiry must be addressed.”

 _All lines of inquiry, my arse_ , Arthur thought. The woman had clearly never even seen a picture of Merlin, or she wouldn’t be implying such ridiculous notions.

“Look, where is Pellinore?” Arthur pushed off from the counter. “I’ll not have you accuse members of my father’s staff without a basis of evidence stronger than ‘being unaccounted for’ on their _days off_.”

“Your sister was also here the night of the murder,” the woman had the gall to add, as though Arthur were unaware of the fact.

“My adopted sister - and she’s suffered from terrible night terrors since she was a girl. She has relied on prescription sleeping pills for years – the sort that could knock out a horse by sniffing it - and therefore is also unrelated to your inquiry. Question her if you like, I am certain spending the night in a state of deep unconsciousness will add riveting detail to your report. Now if you’re done tearing apart my family, how about you find the man who did this.”

“One more question, Mr Pendragon. Where were you on the night Owain Noble died?”

“In bed with my wife,” Arthur snapped.

**::**

“You know, aggravating my Sergeants isn’t the best way to go about things, Arthur,” Pellinore said gruffly over his squad car.

When it became apparent that Arthur was unwilling to continue with the line of questioning, the police woman had let him be, though she was clearly less than happy with his cooperation. After checking in with his father, who had expressed nothing regarding the night’s events and had swiftly fallen back asleep despite attempts to elicit a reaction, Arthur had made his way outside via the back entrance. Pellinore had been waiting for him by the road.

Arthur was tired though he did his best not to show it. “Your Sergeant asked for my _alibi_ in the murder of a man I counted a friend.”

“They are following protocol. They’ve asked the same thing of everyone in the building and _will_ ask of everyone related to Lord Pendragon that they canvas. You can’t snap at them at every turn. They’ll be following up with your missus as well, to shore up your statement.”

“Bloody police work.” Arthur rested his elbows across the roof of the squad car, staring moodily at the police tape still cordoning off the front entrance of his father’s home. “This whole thing is unreal. Why would someone kill Owain? What on earth would be the end goal in that?”

Pellinore tapped the roof. “Either Owain was the target, in the wrong place at the wrong time or he interrupted the person before they got what they came for; knew too much. Or it was an accident. That’s the point of our ‘ _police work_ ’.”

“And the banister?”

“That I have no answer for.”

“You’d have to be superhuman to throw someone through something like that,” Arthur said roughly. 

“I wish that was the first time I’d heard somebody say that,” Pellinore said roughly. 

“It’s happened before?” Arthur asked, frowning at the man who was staring back at the Pendragon estate.

“It’s London,” he responded bluntly.

Gwen would be waiting for him, waiting for an explanation and reassurances that everything was going to be just fine. Arthur didn’t know if telling her that would be a lie or not. He wouldn’t be any help here, Arthur knew; that’s what the police were for. “I need to get home. Will you let me know when you find something?”

Pellinore cast a look at the few SOCO members milling about in their white suits. He gave a curt nod and Arthur took that as the best response he’d get out of the man.

**::**

It was in the morning two days later that Arthur opened his front door to find two uniformed officers waiting on the other side ready to escort him into their precinct. Pellinore had given him a courtesy call in advance which Arthur supposed was something. He didn’t look forward to spending his day in the station either way.

The police station was a remnant from the thirties, renovated in the sixties and as depressingly dull now as Arthur imagined it would have been then. Brown brick with discoloured mortar made up the walls where poured concrete quoins didn’t. Arthur took it all in with a bit of depressed resignation as he was escorted up the short set of steps, flanked by the two uniforms.

The woman at reception was in her fifties and of average height, with dyed blond hair pulled up in a style that looked like she hadn’t changed it since the sixties. The look she sent them as they entered was one that likely wouldn’t have changed if Arthur had been a raving lunatic shouting profanities at all and sundry – it was the look of someone who had seen it all and was long past caring. She waved them on with a casual dismissive gesture.

There were other people sitting in a string of wooden chairs lined against the wall near reception; what looked like a drunkard snuffling in sleep, a pair of teens slouching sullenly. Arthur’s eyes widened as he was pulled past the blank look on the face of Merlin Emrys. He had just enough time for the expression to be imprinted in his mind before Arthur was in a small beige room behind a solid grey door. That look wasn’t meant to be on Merlin’s face.

“What is Merlin doing here?” Arthur demanded as he turned on his escort.

“DCI Pellinore will be with you shortly.”

Arthur crossed his arms and ignored the seat the officer gestured to. The first thing his father had taught him about dealing with adversity was to show you had command of the encounter, even if it was otherwise apparent you weren’t. He would not sit, he would not pace despite dearly wanting to.

It wasn’t long before Pellinore entered. Arthur was glad – his impatience was mounting as the expression on Merlin’s face kept flashing through his mind.

“It doesn’t look good, Arthur,” Pellinore said as the door shut behind him. He spread his file open as he took a seat and Arthur moved to join him. “I’m sorry, I have to turn this on in here,” he said, gesturing towards the mic sitting by Arthur’s right hand and hitting a small square switch.

“Am I a suspect?” Arthur asked carefully.

“Your alibi checked out,” Pellinore deflected. Arthur’s alibi checked out. Arthur was educated well enough to understand that alone did not clear him of all suspicion – finding a man for hire would be ridiculously easy for someone with Arthur’s background; Pellinore was just too tactful to say it out loud. “Tell me about Uther Pendragon.”

“My father?” Arthur frowned, crossing his arms and leaning back in the uncomfortable sculpted plastic of his chair. “What about him?”

“You were right. Targeting Owain Noble doesn’t make sense.”

“You think someone was targeting my father?”

“He’s a powerful man,” Pellinore said. Arthur had a brief flash of his father staring vacantly out his bedroom window, wrapped in blankets and absent to the world. “Are you aware of any enemies he may have had? Anyone with a public vendetta? Notice in the form of threats by phone or post that may have indicated a pending assault on your father?”

“My father has had a long and tumultuous career, Inspector. He hasn’t always made the most sympathetic choices in his business life, and he has always been a harsh taskmaster in all his affairs – I would not doubt in the least that he has stepped on a few toes along the way.”

“Uther’s attending physician is Gaius Whiteman, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Dr Whiteman is also your family physician, and that of your sister?”

“If you are referring to Morgana Vivienne, then yes,” Arthur replied. 

“Ms Vivienne was staying at the house the night of the murder.”

“She didn’t kill Owain Noble,” Arthur said firmly. 

“I’m just trying to establish the facts, Mr. Pendragon.”

Arthur levelled a hard stare at the detective, acutely conscious of the microphone eight inches from his hand. “Uther has been a father to Morgana for many years now. With his current health, she has, like any daughter, expressed the desire to spend time near him.”

“According to Dr Whiteman, Uther also has Alice Whiteman and his grand-nephew, one Merlin Emrys, as caregiving support. Your head of security at your father’s estate has confirmed that Mr Emrys regularly stays late in the estate -”  
__  
_Is that why he’s here?_ Arthur wanted to ask. _Did you drag him in to ask questions or accuse him of murder?_  
  
“Merlin wasn’t even in the house the day Owain died,” Arthur said sharply. “He booked days off that week as I have already said to your sergeant; he’s unrelated to your enquiry.”

“You seem to forget that relation to the case is for the police to determine through observation and questioning.” Arthur grimaced inwardly at the chiding in Pellinore’s tone. He wanted to get Merlin out of this dreary building, but he wasn’t doing any favours to the man by drawing attention to it. Merlin didn’t kill Owain, and the police would recognise that soon enough. The longer they spoke about Merlin with that damnable mic, the more interesting he would become as a suspect.

“Was it the fall that killed him?” Arthur asked after a moment.

Pellinore’s hands paused before drawing out a form from his pile. “Noble’s body suffered severe bruising along the small of the back, as well as evidence of heavy impact, uniformly delivered to the front. The final report suggested that he died from a splintered rib piercing his vital organs shortly before, or during, his fall.”

“I suppose Leon has already given you the security footage from Uther’s systems. I’d have thought you’d have your answer by now.”

“He has,” Pellinore agreed. “The footage is being examined.”

Arthur rubbed a hand tiredly across his eyes. “Let me know if there is anything more I can do to assist you finding the man responsible,” he sighed. “Owain was a good man.” And that was more important than family pride, Arthur thought with resignation.

Pellinore nodded, switching off the equipment.

“Pell,” Arthur said in a low voice. “If there is a threat to my family, I want to know.”

Pellinore’s jaw tightened, his hand twitched against the table. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “As soon as we know.”

**::**

Merlin hadn’t expected to be picked up by the police when he was walking to the bus stop. He hadn’t expected to need a detailed itinerary of his life at the drop of a hat when they spent the next hour grilling him about his whereabouts over the past three days.

He certainly hadn’t expected the cold shower that coursed through his veins when finally, _finally_ , someone had told him what was happening.

Merlin felt ill. There was an eel in his stomach and a fog in his head.

They had left him alone, perhaps because he had reached a point of shellshock where he couldn’t really respond in more than yes or no sentences. Merlin had sunk down into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs out front and hadn’t moved since.

“Come on, Merlin.” A hand reached down into his line of sight and broke through Merlin’s daze. Merlin followed it up, past shirtsleeves and up the dark tailored coat to meet Arthur’s tired but expectant eyes. Arthur.

Arthur made an exasperated sound, hand gripping Merlin’s elbow and hauling him to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked weakly, shuffling to keep up with Arthur as Arthur dragged him from the precinct. He craned around to glance at the reception desk which made him nearly miss the first step and tumble down to the pavement. Arthur’s firm grip on his arm and the other hand that darted up to grab the back of his shirt kept him upright. For a moment, Merlin let himself lean against Arthur’s side, to draw strength from that solid pillar before the world started moving again.

“I’m taking you home,” Arthur said roughly.

Merlin would be lying if he said he hadn’t waited for Arthur to say those words, but he knew the man hadn’t meant it the way Merlin’s traitorous mind supplied. Arthur had meant it in the chivalrous, noble, downright good guy sort of way that he did _everything_ , even if he didn’t know anyone was watching.

“You don’t know where I live.” They had stopped on the roadside. Arthur still had his hand wrapped around Merlin’s arm, and his other had slipped down to rest warm and sure against the small of Merlin’s back, making Merlin feel confused and just a little bit…hopeful. It wasn’t fair – not since Arthur’s mere presence was already wreaking merry havoc on his magic.

Arthur gave him a strange look that Merlin couldn’t decipher.

The warm hand left his arm and Merlin righted himself when he realised he had started leaning towards Arthur. A black cab pulled to a stop and Arthur was pushing Merlin inside. The cabby was a rotund man with a balding patch and oversized ears and he was staring at the two of them expectantly while Merlin blinked gormlessly back. Arthur was staring at him too, Merlin noticed.

Right. Merlin muttered the address to his flat in Kentish Town. He repeated it again when it was clear he hadn’t been heard. Arthur’s knee knocked against Merlin’s and stayed there.

Merlin couldn’t explain how Arthur seemed to know what Merlin needed, reacting to him in ways that took most people years to develop. He didn’t want to explain it. Frankly, he would take what he could get while it was on offer. Merlin was leaning against Arthur, and he couldn’t rouse himself to care.

When they finally pulled up in front of his flat after their silent journey, Merlin tumbled out of the cab. He turned to thank Arthur, and Arthur nodded curtly. For a moment it looked like Arthur was going to get out – like he wanted to see Merlin to the door like a bloody _girl_ , or…or ask to come up – but he didn’t. Arthur just said, “Get some rest, Merlin. You look beat. And for god’s sake, eat something.”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, pushing down the strange swirl that felt a little bit like crushed hope and missed chances. 

Despite that, Arthur had the cab wait until Merlin had entered the staircase, shutting the door behind him.

**::**

Merlin was sitting in the kitchen of Uther’s home, shoulders hunched and nursing a hot cup of tea at the table when Arthur found him a few days later. Alice and Gaius had shared Merlin’s evening duties for those days, Gaius helping Uther to dress and Alice changing over his sheets while the police cleaned up the foyer. There was hardly a trace that anything had happened now, just the splintered white balustrade awaiting repairs. Despite that, Arthur still unconsciously followed the wall as he passed through.

“Leon said you’d be in here.” Arthur crossed his arms, leaning back against the island. Merlin looked a bit worse for wear; if his time off had any beneficial effects, they were long gone now. Arthur didn’t know how to ease the strain on those thin shoulders.

“Your father’s asleep upstairs,” Merlin said dully.

“I know.” Arthur watched Merlin’s hands clench infinitesimally. “I checked in on him when I first got here. He’s doing better.” Merlin nodded and in Arthur the stir of concern grew. “From where I’m standing you’re the one looking like death warmed over.” 

“I can’t…” Merlin sighed, tipping his cup absently and watching the liquid shift. “Owain lent me a book last month. I’d finished it, but I always forgot to bring it with me. Now there’s no point. If I had been there, if I hadn’t -”

“I’m glad you weren’t there that evening,” Arthur said firmly to Merlin.

Merlin frowned. “I should have been, at least until one. Your father is improving, and Gaius said it would be alright, but still -”

“You’d have just got in the way; left us with another body on the marble,” Arthur argued. Merlin was looking miserable and Arthur grabbed at a chance to distract him. A man like Merlin should never be forced to linger on tragedy. “Though now that you’ve brought it up: where were you?”

Arthur was intrigued by the faint flush that spread to Merlin’s ears at that, suffusing colour to his pale complexion. The man himself buried his nose in his cup. Clearly whatever Merlin had been doing was scintillating enough that he could give a reaction better than drowning his sorrows in tea. This was something Arthur could work with. “Merlin, really. Is there a girlfriend hiding in the wings?”

“Certainly not!” Merlin spluttered. Arthur found himself reminded of Gwen in those moments she was hiding some beautiful vice Arthur could spend hours drawing out of her. Not a girlfriend then.

“Boyfriend?” Arthur prodded. The thought made him smirk, the heat of something unnamed simmering in his chest. “You were having a tryst with a tall, dark and handsome fellow, weren’t you, _Mer_ lin?”

“You’re being an arse,” Merlin said firmly. He took a drink from his tea, resolutely staring at the wall off to his left. The face Merlin made at discovering his tea was cold was pricelessly endearing and Arthur realised he was smiling fondly.

“You don’t deny it,” Arthur shot back with a grin.

“If you must know, I was working.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised, a mocking agreement plastered across his face. “At the café, well after closing.”

“Another opportunity presented itself,” Merlin replied.

Arthur never did find out what Merlin had been up to the night Owain had died, but for a time they created a space of easy banter and that was enough. He counted it a job well done when he saw a smiling Merlin out the back of the house and sent him on home. There was something about Merlin that made Arthur feel the need to protect him, both from the world and from himself.

**::**

Arthur ran a hand lightly over the splintered banister, mindful of the broken wood against his skin. He straightened and turned to face the first floor hallway the stairs led to, trying to picture the night of the murder. Owain would have had to have been where Arthur was now – the angle of force gave no other location for where he had hit on his way over. That meant the assailant had to have been coming down the hallway, heading for the stairs and perhaps the way out. But there had been no breaches in the security systems of the house’s perimeter – Arthur, Leon and the police had all verified that. Whoever had attacked Owain had to have either altered the data or already have been in the house before the night protocols had taken affect.

What made Arthur wonder was what exactly had been _accomplished_ by the evening – what the goal of the intruder had evenbeen. Nothing was accounted as stolen; his father’s vault was hidden behind the portrait of Igraine in Uther’s study on the ground floor, not on the first floor with the library and bedrooms. Uther had perhaps some jewellery of Igraine’s stowed away in his dresser, but surely nothing that would inspire theft to the point of murder. Any of Uther’s business financials were left securely in his offices in central London.

“Any word from the police yet?” Arthur asked as Leon ascended the stairs to his left, eyes still trained on the end of the long hallway. As head of Uther’s security, Pellinore had agreed to keep Leon up to date with information concerning the investigation when he could. Arthur had wanted to be involved himself, but the issues across Camelot kept Arthur tied rather securely to his office and no time to follow up on the case. For all he knew, he was still counted a suspect in the case.

“They haven’t identified a murder weapon yet other than impact,” Leon replied with a frown. “Nothing on how that much trauma could have occurred without leaving a trace. The footage from the night doesn’t show anything strange, but then there are no cameras that have this area in view.” Leon hesitated. “Well, that’s not strictly true. I can’t tell how it was done, but -”

“What?”

“I passed through the entrance hall at 12:48,” Leon said. Arthur waited with arms crossed, studying the down pull to Leon’s mouth. “I wasn’t on the recording.”

Arthur’s arms fell to his sides. “What do you mean?”

Leon caught Arthur’s eyes, giving a soft shrug. “I mean I wasn’t there. I copied the footage directly from the hard line for the cops as requested. When they left, I ran through it again myself to figure out what the hell happened. The entrance is empty all night up until Owain…Something happened to the footage or the camera or something.”

“Surely the analysts would have found something –“

Leon shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “Haven’t told them. If there was tampering, they haven’t found it.”

Arthur said nothing to that, breaking away from Leon’s stare with a heavy sigh. Of course Leon hadn’t told the police that. Leon was head of security. If anyone had tampered with security footage, Leon would be a prime suspect – particularly if he was the absent party in the string of events. Arthur didn’t blame him. They would cross that bridge when they got there.

“Has my father said anything about the night?” It felt strange to be asking the question. A week ago, the idea of Uther saying anything had been a fool’s hope; over the past few days, Uther had been lucid enough that he was ordering his own meals. Just this morning, Gaius reported Uther had made his own way into the gardens. A week ago, Arthur was struggling to come to terms with the prospect of losing his father, now he was struggling to keep the hope of a full recovery from overwhelming him like a flood.

“Not yet, Sir.” They stood shoulder to shoulder. “Owain didn’t call in, the night he died. He never said he was investigating anything - a sound, an intruder. Lord Pendragon – if you forgive me for saying, Sir – he was a bit…overly precautious with the security protocol he wanted in place.”

“Paranoid, you mean,” Arthur supplied. “My father was paranoid.”

“A bit,” Leon admitted. “If anyone was moving about in the night, if anyone was leaving their posts, we all call in. Always.”

The idea didn’t sit well with Arthur. His father had always been suspicious about business partners, but Arthur rarely liked to call it paranoia. “Did he ever give a reason for why? For the extra measures.”

“Do you remember the year your Uncle died?” Leon shot Arthur a glance.

“Tristan? I was in school then, off at Eton.” Arthur crossed his arms. “You think my father suspected foul play?” Arthur wondered if perhaps Leon knew something his father had been hiding, if Owain’s death had some connection. His uncle Tristan had died in a fire at one of Uther’s smaller firms running out of Ipswich. The funeral had been a closed casket affair and all Arthur could remember was the stony silence of Agravaine at his father’s side and later, an argument that had broken out between a dark-haired woman with blue eyes and blood-red lips. Lance had been there, and he’d dragged Arthur away then, started running game stats from the last World Cup and Arthur had allowed himself to be distracted from the world.

“I don’t know. I started training a few years after that incident. Kay, the man who trained me, said that was around the time when certain protocols were put into place.”

Why would Kay think a fire would make Uther take greater precautions at home, Arthur wondered. Unless the fire had been intentional? Arthur firmly pushed the thought from his mind. His father had many enemies in the business world, but surely none that would stoop to murder?

“So Owain noticed something. He didn’t follow procedure and he ended up dead.” Arthur started moving down the hallway as he thought. “Why would you not call to say you were investigating something?”

“Because I wasn’t investigating. I already knew what it was.” When Leon spoke Arthur paused, spinning back to face the man.

“Because Owain already knew what it was,” Arthur repeated. His eyes fell on the splintered balustrade again, once again coming up short. It was the only answer he could think of that made sense. But if he had a murderer wandering around his father’s home, a frequent enough face to be familiar to the security personnel, how was Arthur supposed to protect anyone? And what had they been after?

Who knew how to reroute camera footage like that either?

More importantly, had his father expected someone to try something over the past few years that merited the intensity of security in his household? There weren’t that many people who employed the number of security staff that Uther did – no one that wasn’t part royal at least. If Uther had his suspicions, why hadn’t he warned Arthur?

“That doesn’t help the police suspicion of my household, now does it,” Arthur muttered darkly. “I want the house staff to move in pairs at all times until the case is solved. No one other than myself, Morgana and my father’s caregivers are to visit the house except by express request from my father when he is lucid.” Arthur wasn’t sure just what was happening anymore, but there were at least some precautions they could take. If they couldn’t rely on technology, old fashioned sight would have to suffice. 

“You think they’ll be back?”

“I think we should cover our bases until they are caught.” Arthur paused a moment, before turning back to face Leon and voicing what needed to be said before he reconsidered. “I want one man watching Uther’s caregivers when they are in the house. Everyone moves in pairs.”

Arthur tried very hard not to call his own decisions paranoia.

**::**

The world hadn’t quite settled itself by the time Arthur saw Merlin again a few evenings later. Leon had called in a carpenter on Arthur’s request to sort out the mess of railing and the man had removed the whole section, setting up a makeshift barrier while he carved new balusters to match the old. 

There was a thin layer of dust on the narrow table that sat in the foyer, the sight of which pulled Arthur’s mouth into a thin line. The maids were still silently refusing to enter the area it seemed. If Uther found out, he’d likely fire the lot of them and hire in new staff all together. He would have to have a word with Leon about sorting them out.

He never actually saw Merlin for more than a few moments at a time, even then. The result was that Arthur started straining to find him, to know where he was at all times. To worry, unfounded, that Merlin might just disappear. Arthur even ordered Leon himself to be Merlin’s shadow and ignored the pointed look that earned him. Arthur had told Leon to keep an eye on everyone, he reasoned, he was just being thorough. 

Arthur had spent his night watching Uther drinking some sort of thick substance infused with protein and vitamins prescribed by Gaius, marvelling that it was under his own power and trying not to draw notice to his rapt attention. Uther would never accept the idea of being treated like an invalid, and now that he was becoming more aware of his surroundings they were all on treacherous ground once more. Satisfied that Uther was still on the mend, Arthur called it an early night.

It was to his surprise that Merlin caught up with Arthur at the front entrance, a little flustered and a bit distracting in a way Arthur didn’t quite want to consider.

“I’m just on my way out,” Arthur said carefully. There was a bit of colour in Merlin’s cheeks now and he looked less pale than before. Arthur wanted to reach out and check for himself that Merlin was alright. He kept his hands to himself.

“I know,” Merlin said quickly. _Of course you do_ , Arthur thought, _you’ve put great effort into avoiding me all night; that has to have taken some planning._ Arthur frowned as Merlin fished about in his pocket, withdrawing a small plastic canister and holding it out. “I must have thought it was one of Uth - _Lord Pendragon’s_ before my time off – I found it in his medicine cabinet this afternoon.” __  
  
Arthur took the bottle gingerly, turning it in his hands to scan the label, curious as to what it was that made Merlin come out of hiding. “No one else takes…” he paused, reading the prescription again. “They’re Morgana’s.”

“Shite,” Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I thought they might be. She must be missing them something fierce. I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Gaius said she -”

“Needs them every night,” Arthur finished. “They’ve been in my father’s rooms for nearly a week?”

“I’m sorry. What with Lord Pendragon moving about these days and – well, I just didn’t think beyond keeping his pills and things under lock and key. Forgot she was staying over. Gaius was rather adamant about that, the pills – your father’s remarkably bull headed when he gets an idea sometimes…” Merlin trailed off. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Arthur glanced at Merlin, still caught in his own head. “You did the right thing, that’s why I’m keeping you all on staff, until we’re certain my father can function on his own.”

Morgana hadn’t taken her sleeping pills the night Owain died. Arthur felt a cold weight settling low in his stomach. She hadn’t been back to the house since that night either. But Morgana…she was a vicious harpy, but she wasn’t capable of murder, and she wasn’t capable of throwing a trained bodyguard through a wooden balustrade. 

Arthur didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him.

Merlin was staring at him with something strange in his face and for a moment Arthur entertained the thought that Merlin was leaning towards him, as though drawn towards him like a moth to a light. His thoughts drifted to their shared cab ride and the weight of Merlin pressed against his side. Arthur cleared his throat, stuffing the canister into his coat.

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur said with a stiff nod.

Walking away was far more difficult than it should have been, and Arthur knew with a strange sort of certainty that Merlin was exactly where he had left him, waiting for something that neither one of them could name.

**::**

Arthur sighed, falling back onto their couch. Gwen would take hours getting ready. After months of ironing out details, her charity event was finally upon them. Arthur had an entire night ahead of him of fending off gold-digging daughters of Britain’s elite to whom even a wedding band meant he was only off the market while his wife was around. A decade ago, he would have thought it his due. Gwen, never being around when the harpies tried to sink in their claws, always thought he was exaggerating their attentions; events like these were important to her though, so he suffered through as well as he could manage.

He cast about for something to occupy himself with as he waited, eyes landing on one of Gwen’s magazines lying discarded nearby. He vaguely remembered it as one of the publications that Morgana had occasionally posed for in the past, back when she was dating a brash young photographer – back before they both cheated on each other with the same designer. Arthur thought she might be running it now, or something to do with pulling it together; he recognized that he really hadn’t been paying much attention to Morgana’s life over the past few years – not as much as perhaps he should.

Seventeen pages of idle flipping later, Arthur paused before turning back to page sixteen where he proceeded to stare. It was a black and white image, pale skin against a white background, framed by a dark Burberry sweater and a mop of black hair. Arthur tilted the image, sitting up straight to get a better view. He didn’t really need it; his eyes hadn’t been lying the first time. The fey little model that took up the entire page was Merlin Emrys.

Arthur tore the page out. Carefully.

Two pages later, Merlin was posed partway down a staircase in white button-down and blazer, staring hard at the photographer. Arthur knew those stairs. They belonged in Gwaine Knight’s home. Merlin was letting Gwaine Knight photograph him. Morgana had succeeded in her _recruiting mission._

Gwaine was the tall, dark and handsome man Arthur had teased Merlin about being with that night not so long ago.

Morgana had delivered Merlin to Gwaine. 

It made him angry, an unpleasant feeling rolling and surging in his veins. It made him feel ill in a way he couldn’t rationalize. Arthur had no claim to Merlin or Merlin’s time, and just because Gwaine was a rakish flirt with few morals didn’t _mean_ anything. And even if it did, what did it matter to Arthur? It didn’t.

Arthur was prepared to tear up the whole magazine at that, but he realized Gwen probably would have something disapproving to say over his behaviour. He set the book down. Then proceeded to put a few others on top of it artfully. And the television clicker box. He was just contemplating shifting a box of tissues onto the stack when Gwen passed by in the hall.

What Merlin did in his time off and with whom shouldn’t be of any concern to Arthur. Arthur ground his teeth.

He gave one glance at the page in his hand and decided he needed to find somewhere to dispose of it. As he stood, he snatched the box of tissues and set it firmly on top of his display.

**::**

“Lance,” Arthur said in surprise as he caught sight of the tanned doctor’s face. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“You didn’t think I would miss Guinevere’s hard work coming to fruition, did you?” Lance’s smile encompassed them both, but Arthur could see how his eyes lingered on Gwen a moment too long. Arthur’s wife chose that moment to slide an arm about Arthur’s waist. While he was mildly suspicious of her actions, he decided he would follow her lead, letting his own arm rest about her shoulders.

“No, of course not.” Not when Gwen was involved, Arthur thought dryly. “Are you here alone this evening?”

“Ah –“

“Doctor DuLac, you simply have the most perplexing ability to disappear this evening,” a blonde woman appeared at Lance’s side, slipping her arm through his with precision. “Arthur! And this must be the Mrs Pendragon you were speaking of.” She held out her hand with finesse to Gwen who took it with good grace, if a little slowly. “Elena Godwyn. I haven’t seen you in ages, Arthur – with all the Mr Pendragon this and that from the Doctor, I thought for a moment your father would be joining us.”

“Not at this time,” Arthur said smoothly, trying not to flinch and draw attention to the fact that Gwen’s fingers were digging sharply into his side. He had forgotten that Gwen had never met Elena – she had been studying abroad during most of their adolescence and had a bit of a whirlwind life about the globe ever since.

Gwen had tensed along Arthur’s side the moment the woman had opened her mouth, but now she seemed to have mustered the capacity to smile awkwardly, grasping the proffered limb sociably with her free hand. Arthur let his hand drift to Gwen’s neck, offering her a gentle squeeze in support. He hadn’t seen Gwen’s mask for discomfort come out so often since the first year of their marriage, while she was still adapting to being presented as Mrs. Pendragon to high society.

“You’re…you’re here with Miss Godwyn, then,” Gwen forced out.

“Well, not –“ Lance began before Elena cut in with, “I came across him by the musicians, absolute darling of a man. Can’t dance for anything, but a gentleman to the last. Did you know he worked with underprivileged children in Africa?”

Arthur couldn’t help the amused smirk that crept its way across his face. He could tell by the way Gwen was relaxing against him that she was fighting back a smile of her own as she realised how uncomfortable Lance was. Lance shot Arthur a look of pure distress.

“Miss Godwyn,” Arthur began, right hand giving Gwen’s back a reassuring stroke he hoped she could read. “Allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the dance floor.”

Elena looked torn between sticking at Lance’s side and the prospect of actually having a dancing partner, so Arthur took the initiative and took hold of her hand, leading her away from the others. Lance was a brilliant dancer; the man would owe him for this, and Arthur already suspected the woman would be a hazard to more than just his feet.

**::**

There was a sort of resigned peacefulness in watching Gwen and Lance dancing across the ballroom, Arthur found. He had used his gift of persuasion and diplomacy to find Elena another partner after only an hour or so, escaping into the crowds and hoping he made it far enough before the man realised what had happened. Initially, Arthur had intended to return to Gwen’s side, but seeing her smiling openly for the first time in a long while gave him pause. Arthur wouldn’t take that from her, not if he could manage it. He lifted his champagne flute for another slow sip, leaning back against the wall. 

It wasn’t even a question of if Gwen wanted to leave him anymore, it was just a matter of when and on what terms. They would start picking fights with each other, little inconsequential things at first, and their relationship would just crumble to pieces over time. If Lance made the choice to pursue something with Elena – with anyone who was free and available like Gwen wasn’t, Gwen would slowly turn bitter and likely resent Arthur despite the fact they both knew neither was to blame, not really.

They only had one choice. One chance.

Later, Arthur thought grimly; another day and they would start working on their future.

Arthur found Gwen an hour later, near the clearing stations for the butler staff. He watched for a moment as she folded and refolded the cloth napkins that had lined the buffet tables, her hands trembling. Arthur knew then that Gwen was starting to come to the same conclusion. He stepped up quietly beside her, drawing the stack of cloth away from her and trying not to notice how she jumped at that.

“Arthur!”

“They’re looking for you over at the silent auction tables,” Arthur said gently.

“Of course,” Gwen wiped her hands hastily down her front which, under any other circumstances, would have made Arthur smile and tease his wife that she treated a dress from Vivian Westwood with as much respect as a kitchen apron. “I’ve just been a little preoccupied, what with everything that needs to be done and –“

Arthur caught Gwen as she tried to breeze by him, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head down to his shoulder. “It’s alright, Gwen. Just take a moment to breathe. Are you alright?”

“…I don’t know,” Gwen said quietly. Arthur could feel her hands tighten in his shirt, the light pull of fabric against his shoulders as she clenched her fists at his back.

Arthur pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I should have thought first.”

“How are you doing it?” Arthur had to strain to hear her and he was silent for a moment.

“I remember that Lance is just as important to me now as he was then. I remember that I would rather that he was here than not here.” Arthur pulled back enough to catch Gwen’s eyes. And it’s easier for me, Arthur didn’t add, because I was never in love with him. “He’s not trying to make this difficult for you, Guinevere.”

“Would you stay with me, for tonight?” Gwen pleaded and Arthur gave her a smile.

“Always.”

They could do this. They could face this strain and, god willing, come out in one piece on the other side.

**::**

There were times when Merlin thought his life was a bit like an old patchwork quilt. A bit like Camden, he thought, legs dangling over the side of the lock, market stalls jumbled together at his back.

Merlin wasn’t a trained nurse – he’d picked up everything he needed to know on the job, watching Gaius and responding to surprises that slowly became less surprising and more just plain daily routine. Merlin didn’t know what he was. Working for the Pendragons had become such a massive part of his life that he wondered if, when it was finished and Uther recovered, he would know what to do with himself. If there would be a hole with fraying edges gaping, and if he could find a patch big enough to mend it. 

Somehow he knew that an Arthur-shaped hole would be near impossible to cover.

But he needed a plan. He needed something to work towards, if only to keep him from falling apart. He could go back to school, if he could cobble together enough money. He could try to convince Gaius to take him on full time, if even as an office hand. He could get on a plane and set up somewhere far away.

But then, he couldn’t. He couldn’t fathom leaving London now, not when Arthur was still here. 

It didn’t make sense. He’d only known Arthur _existed_ for a handful of months. Anything he had with Arthur was just an illusion, a fantasy, a dream.

The pull towards Arthur would fade with time; these sorts of things always did, didn’t they? It wasn’t some ridiculous notion of True Love holding him here. Merlin was fairly certain that True Love would take into account gender preferences of both parties - and if it wasn’t True Love, then it _had_ to fade. It didn’t matter that his magic hadn’t skittered this close to his skin before or that being near Arthur felt like coming home. It didn’t matter, because Arthur was in love with Gwen. And Merlin - Merlin absolutely, irrevocably wasn’t in love with Arthur.

Mostly. 

If Arthur would just stop watching him all the bloody time it might be easier. If Arthur would just stop manhandling Merlin around like he had the right to – Merlin didn’t know just when Arthur had gone from the removed son of Lord Pendragon to this new tactile and demanding man, but it was doing his head in. Arthur was treating Merlin like – almost like a _friend_ , but not quite. He was burrowing his way into Merlin’s life and making himself a home and Merlin didn’t know how to protect himself anymore.

**::**

“What are you doing, Arthur?”

Arthur glanced up from his book at the tone of his wife. He wondered what exactly she was referring to this time. “Why do you assume I’m doing something? Or rather, why is what I am supposedly doing seeming to upset you?”

“You really are alright with Lance and I using the reservation you made for dinner tonight?” Gwen asked sceptically. Over the past week Gwen had been putting a concentrated effort into inviting Lance over to spend time with the two of them, inviting him over for dinner three of the last five days and using Arthur as a buffer in their interactions. Gwen had even deigned to accept the tickets to the opera, and if her expression when she got home that night was any indication, had enjoyed herself immensely. She had taken Arthur’s words to heart, it seemed, and was making the most of re-immersing Lance into their lives.

“Yes, Gwen, I really am alright with the situation. If Lance is to be believed, and I do say I’m inclined to believe him in this regard, Elena Godwyn has been hounding the poor man all week. It is by far your turn to play interference since Lance is far too nice for his own good,” Arthur replied, returning to his spot in his reading. 

Two nights ago, Lance had confided to Arthur that Elena was trying to pick out children’s names and he still hadn’t even agreed to start seeing the woman officially. Without intervention, Arthur was likely to have a little Galahad bouncing on his knee if Elena had anything to say about it. If Lance hadn’t looked like a picture of pure despair at the idea, Arthur would have said her influence was good for the man.

“Maybe he really likes Elena,” Gwen said softly, taking a seat on the arm of Arthur’s chair. “Maybe she’s good for him.”

Arthur snorted. “I assure you, Lance is not interested in Elena.” When Gwen looked ready to object, Arthur snapped his book shut. “Gwen, go put on that blue dress you got last week and take the damn man out for dinner. I will still be here when you get back, and I will feel the same then as I do now.”

Gwen held his eyes for a long moment. Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly until she swallowed and disappeared upstairs.

Arthur knew what he was doing. He was giving Gwen the chance she should have had three years ago, and surprisingly, he wasn’t as bothered as he perhaps should have been at the thought that his marriage might slowly be disintegrating around them.

**::**

“I’ll give you a lift home,” Arthur said when Merlin walked out of the café on Tuesday night, a bemused expression crossing Merlin’s face.

It had taken some time and creative persuasion to get the location of Merlin’s alternate place of work out of Gaius earlier that evening. Merlin’s hours at Uther’s home had been pared back to a few nights a week – and even then, just an accompaniment to Gaius’ check-ups – and ever since, Arthur had been trying to fight down the miserable ache that had grown unbidden in his chest. Now that Gwen was spending more time with Lance, Arthur was…well Arthur just needed someone to spend his evenings with too, didn’t he? He could cultivate new friends, that wasn’t unheard of.

“Arthur…what are you doing here?” Merlin pulled the wooden door shut behind him and fumbled with his key fob. 

Merlin’s co-workers had already left for the night. Arthur had watched Gilli and George take off half an hour ago, Gilli shooting a wave off into the darkened glass as George continued expounding the effects of pack density on the quality of espresso output. The lesson had clearly been going on for some time, judging by the glazed over expression on Gilli’s face. 

“I just told you.” Arthur uncrossed his arms, pushing away from his car to open the passenger side door.

Merlin looked unconvinced as he approached. “I know what you said, I just don’t know why.”

“Forty year old whiskey.” Arthur slid an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, directing him into the vehicle. Merlin let out an awkward laugh.

“That’s not an explanation,” Merlin said with a small smile when Arthur had finally settled down behind the wheel.

Arthur glanced to his left before saying, “I think you’ll find it is a perfect explanation.” He started the ignition and released the clutch. “If you spent an entire afternoon with a man that thinks coffee presses are the height of interesting conversational gambits, I dare say you need it.”

To Arthur’s satisfaction, Merlin just said, “Fair enough.”

**::**

Merlin returned with a mug and a tea cup, shooting Arthur an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I don’t usually eat at home and I broke my last glass a few days ago.”

Arthur was ensconced in a small, battered green armchair, insisted upon by Merlin as his host, who had dragged out a small card chair for himself which had previously been stowed under the narrow bed against the wall. The flat was the smallest Arthur had even seen, barely enough room for the bed, armchair and ancient telly shoved into the space. Off to the right of the entranceway was another door which, upon first entering, Arthur had assumed lead to the rest of the flat, but in reality was merely a cupboard hiding as a toilet.

“And yet you haven’t yet managed to break a delicate porcelain, flora-painted tea cup,” Arthur said as he fought down a grin. He beckoned with one hand. “You can try your chances tonight, mug me.”

Despite Gwen’s charity work, Arthur wasn’t nearly as accustomed to befriending those outside his social standing as perhaps he should be. He vowed for that night to tactfully avoid mentioning anything to do with Merlin’s apparent lifestyle.

“Having a bad night, are we?” Merlin asked as Arthur filled his mug with scotch. The red ceramic was a bit chipped and there was a ridiculous welsh dragon painted on one side but Arthur found he didn’t mind. If it had been a cut crystal rocks glass, Arthur knew the evening wouldn’t have felt nearly as comfortable as it did. Had Merlin been the sort who owned such a thing, Arthur was certain he never would have ended up in Merlin’s dingy little flat in the first place.

“A bad year,” Arthur replied, pouring what may have equalled two fingers into Merlin’s little cup – it was hard to judge and ultimately far from Arthur’s concerns. The man nodded his thanks and held the cup between his knees. Arthur braced himself and took a deep pull of scotch. If his father had seen him, and was coherent enough to notice, the man would have been appalled. The liquor was nearly as old as Uther.

Merlin looked like he was about to say something and then quickly changed his mind. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even a little.” Arthur cast a sardonic look at Merlin over his drink.

Somehow over the past few weeks, Arthur’s life had plummeted – and perhaps was still freefalling. His father was improving but still worrying, the issues arising at Camelot were starting to take more and more of his attention, and then Owain’s murder and Lance’s return and the havoc that was wreaking with his relationship with Guinevere – Arthur felt it was more than any man should be asked to bear. In the past, Morgana had been a voice of reason for Arthur amidst the moral seas, but even she seemed to be drifting further away from him than ever before.

“George has been quite helpful this week,” Merlin said after a moment of silence. “He singlehandedly polished every chair in the café after alphabetizing our stockroom. Never have I been able to see my face in wood before.”

Arthur snorted, shooting Merlin a grin. “I’ll bet your café has never been so clean the whole of your employ. Really, Merlin, this flat is appalling. You could learn something from that fellow.”

“I’d be an expert at polishing wood,” Merlin shot back, and Arthur wasn’t at all certain that Merlin wasn’t being a bit cheeky. He took a quick drink.

“Are you suggesting you want lessons on wood polishing?”

“Well, he did mention that polishing was his favourite,” Merlin replied with a grin.

The night devolved from there, Arthur drinking more than he had since University and learning more about Merlin than he’d known going in. Like how most of Merlin’s wages got sent home to his mother, half a country away on a Council Estate in Wales. How Merlin curled up on his nights off with a bag of crisps and some classic Film Noir. That if Merlin was to cheer for a football team, it would be West Bromwich Albion based solely on the little blue bird atop their crest and not at all to do with their goal averages or likelihood to win their League Finals. Arthur had thrown the cushion from the armchair at Merlin for that, demanding the man hand it back over in the likely scenario he might need to repeat the action.

All in all, Arthur had never enjoyed himself nearly as much as he did that evening, though he admitted the scotch may have swayed his judgment a bit of the proceedings. Regardless, with Merlin he was just Arthur, and for once, just Arthur was enough.

“Life may be a bit crap right now,” Merlin said carefully just as Arthur had settled into a comfortable silence, “but no matter what happens, you’ve still got friends, Arthur. You’ve still got me.”

Arthur stared at the dark-haired man with wide-set eyes and protruding ears for a minute. In that moment, it was so easy to just lean over and press his lips to Merlin’s.

And for one brilliant moment, Arthur swore Merlin pressed back.

Then Merlin’s hand was a slow but firm force against Arthur’s shoulder, pushing a resistant Arthur away. “You’re more than a little drunk, Arthur.”

“Yes,” he agreed amiably as he got to his feet. Merlin really did have a nice mouth. Hands were divulging Arthur of the mug in his grasp and Arthur let it be taken, moving his fingers to card through the hairs at Merlin’s temple. Merlin had blue eyes; they weren’t something the black and white magazine photos were able to do justice to. Something of Merlin’s that Gwaine had missed in his capture.

Merlin pulled away in a smooth motion, disappearing from Arthur’s line of sight. There was the sound of running water as Arthur glanced around himself, trying to figure out how it had gone from Merlin within reaching distance to Merlin off somewhere else. Before his mind was finished fully processing that thought, Merlin was back, wrapping Arthur’s hand around his mug again.

Arthur leaned forward, quickly landing a kiss somewhere not quite where he had aimed, but at least he was fairly certain he landed somewhere around the man’s cheek. He tipped the glass and finished it in three great swallows.

“You have no idea what that was that I gave you.” Merlin’s face was pulling down into a disapproving frown. Arthur didn’t like it and Merlin caught his hand when it tried to smooth out the wrinkles between Merlin’s eyebrows.

“You’re a nurse, Merlin. Whatever you gave me was bound to be good for me,” Arthur groped for a flat surface to put the mug on until Merlin liberated it from him with sure hands. Merlin was good at that sort of thing, Arthur realized, being sure and taking care of him.

“Come on, you can sleep here tonight,” Merlin was saying, walking Arthur back until his knees hit something solid and he fell. “I doubt you’d have the sense to find your way home in this state.”

Merlin was on one knee then and Arthur was having trouble getting his brain to focus on words. His world was getting a bit hazy and the surface he was on was so comfortable. He vaguely remembered hands sliding up his calf and shoes being slipped off, familiar and right, before his eyes refused to open, shut for the final time.

**::**

Arthur woke between worn red plaid sheets, feeling warm and just the right side of comfortable. He reached blindly to his left, hissing in surprise when his groping hand hit a solid wall rather than the pleasant softness of his wife. 

He sat up quickly - then promptly wished that he hadn’t.

Somehow Arthur had wound up in a single bed shoved up in the corner of what looked like a bachelor flat.

With a raging hangover.

The kitchenette at the foot of the bed was little more than a hot plate and a sink. A tiny window was cut out of the wall in the two foot gap between bed end and counter start; the walls themselves a dismal throwback to London in the sixties. Arthur would have called it an attempt at retro chic gone wrong, but he was fairly certain the owner had just never gotten around to changing the paper in the first place.

Arthur swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took a moment to focus on the ground between his bare feet, right hand groping for the headboard before staggering upright. And nearly tripping over a stack of books. The flat looked as though a whirlwind had been through it and then returned to hastily clear little patches of space in a pretence of cleanliness.

He made his way over to the sink, a shallow little hole in the wood with an ancient faucet. Thankfully, it seemed to work, and Arthur cupped a handful of cold water, dragging it over his face. To his left, there was his red mug and a small white blister pack of paracetamol. As Arthur wiped the water from his eyes he noticed a note propped up against it. He picked it up, middle finger toying with the bottom of the paper as he read.  
__  
_No more than two. And drink at least three mugs of water._  
\- __  
_Merlin_  
  
Merlin’s flat, then. He found he couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up at Merlin’s place. At the same time, he wondered just where the other man had ended up - and if Arthur had commandeered the only bed in the flat, where Merlin might have spent the night.

Arthur caught sight of an empty bottle of scotch on the sideboard. He remembered last night about the same time as his stomach decided to crawl out his throat. Suddenly, he was intensely regretful Merlin didn’t own a full sized sink.

It was some time later, that Arthur felt able to make his way to the bathroom. He had to work a bit as a contortionist before he managed to shut the door behind him, ending up half in the shower to do so. He decided in that moment that Merlin must officially live in the smallest bachelor flat London had on offer. There wasn’t even room for a mirror on the wall, just a half-sized window that looked out over another rooftop. It was hardly a wonder the man always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. 

There was a pink towel that had seen better days folded neatly and placed on the sink which Arthur took to indicate that he was permitted a shower at least before his walk of shame back to the office. Arthur decided he would have to buy a change of clothes on his way in – he had no intention of spending the entire day in a wrinkled suit smelling of sick. He wondered what he was going to say to Gwen. He had never given her cause to wonder before if he was coming back from a torrid affair or not. Arthur supposed that a drunken fumble with Merlin hardly counted as a torrid affair, particularly when Merlin had shut him down so completely.

Arthur wasn’t even surprised once he had stripped down, to discover that the standing shower only pumped tepid water or ice. He resolved to look into just what wages the man earned from the Pendragon Estate when he got into work if this was the best Merlin could afford with two jobs on the go.

He let out a huffed exhale and stepped under the spray.

**::**

Gwen looked up from her spot curled up on a corner of their sofa when Arthur walked in later that evening. Arthur gave her a tired smile, setting his briefcase down by the entrance to their living space.

“Is that a new blazer?” Gwen had her head tilted to the side, lowering the files she had been examining to peer at his chest. Leave it to Gwen to notice. To Arthur, it was near indistinguishable from the one he had thrust at a dry-cleaner’s earlier in the day.

“I went drinking with Merlin Emrys last night,” Arthur replied truthfully; it wasn’t as though his wife’s first assumption would be scandalous. Besides, she had spent the evening with Lance, she didn’t get to be judgemental, Arthur thought. “I regretfully inform you I imbibed far more scotch than is advisable and as a result, the good nurse forbid me leaving the premises. I assure you, a new blazer was a requirement.”

“Your father’s caregiver?”

“The very same.” Arthur moved to clear a space on the sofa and took a seat. 

“I like him,” said Gwen. “He’s good for you.”

“Are these the financials?” he deflected, gesturing at the laptop propped on the low coffee table beside her. Gwen had agreed to do some research for him now that her own workload had eased off a bit which Arthur was coming to appreciate exponentially. “Find anything useful?”

“Nothing much,” Gwen replied, highlighting a string of numbers across her screen. “I did find some out of date payroll. I ran a search of current employees and crossed it with your payroll department – there are four accounts that should have been deleted years ago. At least three, for this last one.”

“What’s that?” Arthur moved closer, angling the laptop towards himself and scanning the document.

“Uther fired these employees ages ago, but they’re still on payroll apparently,” she explained. “Getting quite a good deal too, by the looks of it; near close to your salary. That’s not the only interesting part.”

“Do tell,” Arthur loved seeing Gwen in her full glory. The woman was brilliant once she had the scent of something.

“They all have accounts listed from separate bank firms. I spoke with Percival this morning – he’s an old friend of Elyan’s, you know, ex copper, works the private investigations side now? I asked if he could look into the numbers for me. He’s run a few checks for me in the past for organizations we’re funding, making sure everything is above board. Unbelievably thorough. All four of those accounts are listed as corporate accounts for a company named, of all things, Unicorn.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know. No one does.” Gwen frowned. “I haven’t been able to pull up a single file on the name all day, but I have a feeling that’s where the missing funds have disappeared to.”

“Then it would seem that I need to have some words with my father, and then his accountants,” Arthur said grimly. “I can’t believe that Agravaine could have missed such a thing. I mean, you’re brilliant, but it’s his _job_.”

Gwen placed a hand against Arthur’s neck and he turned to face her. “Did you consider that maybe he didn’t?”

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. “Will Percival do a little more digging for me?”

“You want to hunt this Unicorn.”

“I need to know what’s going on,” Arthur said with tired determination. “I need to protect Camelot and our employees, and I need transparency in my company. If dragging this Unicorn out into the light is the only way to do it, then I’ll drag it kicking and screaming.”

“Bet you never thought you’d have to say that,” Gwen said lightly after a moment, a smile creeping across her face.

Arthur couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped. “My life is becoming ridiculous.”

“Percival is the best of the best. If there’s anything to find, he’ll find it.”

**::**

When Arthur was born, his mother had died. An equal trade, a life for a life. The doctors could only save one, and the doctors had chosen. Arthur had gained a father. Uther had lost the woman he loved.

Every year on Arthur’s birthday, until the age of twelve, Arthur had wondered why his father had always sat vigil over his bedside; his first sight in the morning the dark silhouette of Lord Uther Pendragon against the morning glare. No extravagance was spared on celebration in the evenings, entertainers and caterers, hordes of admirers and friends – but in the silence of morning, that time had been reserved for Igraine alone.

On his thirteenth birthday, Arthur had woken alone. He had pulled on a button down and combed down his hair, pausing longer at the mirror, wondering what had changed, why his father had abandoned him. When he found his father, Uther had been sitting behind his great wooden desk, stacks of paper arrayed about in organized clutter, barely glancing as Arthur stood rigid in the doorway.

“You weren’t at breakfast, Sir,” Arthur had forced himself to say. “I-“

“You are becoming a man,” Uther said to the papers in his hand. “Inform the staff they are to have a receipt from the caterers before they leave the house and that they need to see to their own rubbish disposal. Also, your uncle Agravaine will not be in attendance this evening. I suggest finding another to fill his spot at the table; no use wasting a place setting, after all.”

“Yes, Sir.” Arthur had swallowed down a protest, chin held high. He had invited Morgana to find someone to take the seat at his right and promptly ignored Gwen, the quiet dark-skinned girl she chose, for the rest of the evening. Every year after, Uther had gotten a contemplative look on his face as they ate breakfast in silence. Somehow, over the course of the following weeks, Arthur found himself presented to one young eligible woman or another. In his own heavy-handed, terribly misguided way, Arthur knew his father was trying to find for Arthur what Uther himself had lost.

During the time Arthur had thought he’d lost Lance, the sheer volume of ‘acquaintances’ Arthur found himself escorting about London had peaked around ‘unbearable’ and Arthur had stormed into Uther’s office to demand a word. Arthur remembered he had been wearing a red silk tie, loose, and he’d spent a good five minutes prior running a hand through his hair, working up the nerve in the supply closet four doors down. Uther had dismissed Catriona with a gesture, levelling a deep set frown.

“I love her, Father, and I am going to marry her,” was the first thing out of his mouth. Uther didn’t even blink and Arthur had felt all kinds of an idiot, but he held his ground. “Guinevere Thomson. I asked her to marry me. She said yes.”

“I hope you’re making the right decision,” was all his father had said then and Arthur, still breathing a little hard from nerves, had been more than a little confused. His father wanted him to have a family. A wife, some grandchildren. And now, now that Arthur had finally chosen a woman, his father seemed indifferent. “Guinevere Thompson, an acquaintance of Morgana’s – the mechanic’s daughter, isn’t she?”

Arthur had pushed for a quick wedding and Uther had coasted through it all with a calm that felt a bit like disappointment. Arthur never had quite figured out why.

“You loved my mother,” Arthur voiced after some time. They were in his father’s sitting room, two armchairs pulled close to the fireplace to ward off the evening chill. Gaius had deemed Uther on the mend the week before, and Merlin’s rotations had been cut down to two days a week, a cursory check in to see that Uther remained comfortable in his recovery. Uther bore it all with silent disdain, and Merlin left each night tense and sullen. Arthur wanted to go after him when he saw Merlin like that, but he reined in his urge and kept his shoulders straight, adopting once more the persona his father had crafted over the years.

“From the moment I saw her,” Uther’s voice was rough from disuse. “What is this about?”

Arthur linked his hands, leaning forward to stare into the fire. “What if she was married to someone else?”

He wondered…if Gwen was married to Lance, if Arthur loved Gwen enough to pursue her regardless. Was that the measure of what it meant to love someone truly? If Gwen had married Lance, Arthur felt safe in saying that would have been the end of it, so long as Gwen was safe and happy. If he hadn’t married Gwen, would a girl like Elena have Arthur in her sights, or would he have found someone else to give his heart to?

“Who have you been speaking to?” Uther said, eyes focused on the flames in his hearth. Arthur frowned. His father’s hands were clenched on the wooden armrests of his chair, his face like cut iron in the flickering light.

“I…no one,” Arthur clamped his mouth shut. He felt like he had inadvertently wandered into a minefield he hadn’t previously known existed. Somewhere along Uther’s illness, Arthur had forgotten his father was not a man one had therapy sessions with. Therapy sessions _about_ , certainly - _with_ , never.

“Agravaine is a poisonous snake, Arthur.” The stony image of Uther was broken by a string of coughs. “You don’t…don’t listen to a thing he says.”

What had Agravaine to do with anything, Arthur thought dully, but his concern was mostly on his father, bent double in the chair at his side. “I’m sorry, Father. You are still unwell.”

Uther stilled. “My walking stick,” he rasped, grasping at the air, “and then you may see yourself out.”

Arthur moved in stunned shock, slowly passing over the carved wooden cane. He hadn’t been dismissed like that in years, and he wasn’t entirely certain what had caused it. It had been the wrong thing to say, Arthur realised belatedly; Uther wasn’t the silent pliable man he had been over the course of his illness. Arthur stood, his legs feeling a bit foreign to him and straightened his back. Uther wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Arthur very suddenly was reminded of being a child once more, desperate for his father’s affection and falling short time and again for even the mildest recognition. The last few months of one sided conversations had lulled Arthur into a sense of ease around Uther, but Uther was still the same man he had always been.

**::**

If Arthur had learned anything from his father, it was that when someone told you to avoid something, that was usually the best place tostart when gathering information. Arthur doubted Uther intended that advice to apply to the things he himself was trying to hide, but Arthur was willing to see where it led anyhow. He didn’t like the feeling that Uther _was_ hiding something – whether his digging around would allay those concerns or compound them was something he couldn’t worry about now.

“Agravaine? Tell me about my mother.” 

Arthur watched his uncle’s relaxed form on the settee, a tumbler of cognac cradled in his left hand. It hadn’t been difficult to get Agravaine to drop by after work one evening; he had a fondness for expensive alcohol, and the chance of having Arthur’s ear for the night seemed to spark something in the accountant’s demeanour that frankly disturbed Arthur. As Arthur watched the amber liquid slowly disappear over the last hour, he wondered if he shouldn’t have just switched it with something at a lower price point – he had already learned as a teen that his uncle, despite professing a fondness for a particular Courvoisier, couldn’t actually tell the difference in his drinks. Arthur could have served him something he’d bought down at the off-license, and so long as he poured it out of Uther’s cut crystal set, Agravaine would have thought himself a king.

While Arthur didn’t know much about the DuBois side of his family, he did know that they hadn’t come from wealth. Whatever standing and fortune Agravaine had pulled from life had come from his association with Uther Pendragon, and in all estimation remained dependant on that same connection. He had illusions of grandeur and a cultivated sense of self entitlement, but Arthur understood. Arthur had grown up with every material thing he could have ever wanted, and had little regard for them – Agravaine had grown up with little and as a result coveted everything. But Agravaine never spoke about his childhood to Arthur. He never spoke of anything before Arthur was born – nothing before Arthur had moved on from Eton, really. Arthur wanted to know why.

“Your mother?” Agravaine’s dark eyes drifted over to Arthur. Everyone in Arthur’s family had such light eyes, Arthur mused, even _Morgana,_ who wasn’t even blood – how did Agravaine end up so…Arthur mentally shook off the thought, focusing on his goal. 

“What was she like?”

“She was a beautiful woman, kind. Had handfuls of men courting her from the age of sixteen.” Agravaine let out a snort. “How she ended up with Uther…”

“You didn’t approve?” Arthur pried. He had watched his uncle drink all evening, waiting for his moment. Everyone had always been so closed mouth about Arthur’s mother – every time Arthur had asked his father, Uther had gone thin lipped and angry until one day Arthur had just stopped asking. But Agravaine – Arthur knew that Agravaine knew everything Arthur wanted to know, he had just never been able to pry it from the man before. In honesty, Arthur knew he had always been a bit afraid to try. With Agravaine, the truth sometimes had a way of twisting into something unrecognizable.

Agravaine swirled the contents of his glass, staring into the amber liquid with focus. “Didn’t approve? You lived with your father.”

“He loved her.” Arthur couldn’t help but feel a bit defensive over his father at Agravaine’s tone.

“So he said. Repeatedly.”

“Why did you never marry, Uncle?” Arthur tried a different tact. He hadn’t touched his own drink in over an hour, still held loosely between his hands as the evening wore on. Something was happening, had been happening, with his family for far longer than he had imagined. If loosening his uncle’s tongue was one way to rout out some answers, Arthur was not above that tactic; he just needed to play his cards right.

“Me? Marry? It would have taken away from my work, dear boy,” Agravaine replied jovially. “ _Camelot_. My employer was always a strong advocate for dedication.”

Had Arthur been drinking, he may have missed the steel in Agravaine’s voice. It was _Uther_ , Arthur realised with clarity. Was it _fear_? What but fear could make a man like Agravaine withhold basic information from his own nephew? What did Uther have over Agravaine – what did Uther want to hide so much that even Arthur wasn’t privy to?

“Camelot owes you a great deal,” Arthur leaned back in his chair, watching the firelight flicker across his uncle’s face.

“More than Uther would ever admit,” Agravaine chuckled. “A ship riddled with holes.”

Whatever it was Agravaine was withholding, it was more than even Arthur’s unsettled curiosity accounted for. Arthur needed to know everything – about his mother, about his father’s past. _Everything_. “Were you at their wedding? They said she was beautiful.”

“Which wedding?”

“My mother’s,” Arthur said. Maybe he had poured his uncle too many cups.

“I was at Igraine’s wedding.” Agravaine’s eyes stared unfocused at the far wall, remembering something Arthur could only piece together from photos and stories. “She was the most beautiful woman in the world, done up in lace and lilies. I had never seen her so happy. The same smile she wore as the day she held her child for the first time. She was beautiful.”

Arthur smiled sadly, eyes drifting to the warm amber of his drink. He had only ever seen Igraine in a handful of old photos, dulled by age or printed in grayscale for the papers. He liked to think his mother had held him before she died – that she had seen him and smiled and been happy he had made it into the world. In his darker moments, he felt it made him less of a monster if she was happy. His birth had – every time Guinevere had spoken wistfully of children, Arthur had felt a bolt of fear strike through his veins, worry that complications might take Gwen, take the child. History repeating itself. Gwen had always been adamant that Arthur would make a good father. Whenever she noticed the crease etching his brow, she would run her thumb across his skin, smoothing it out and kissing him into distraction. They had both become experts at distraction over the years.

He wondered if he should try pushing about Asctir and the missing funds. He wanted to know about his mother, though - if Arthur pushed harder about Igraine, would Agravaine finally talk? Arthur was startled slightly by the sound of Agravaine’s glass hitting the table awkwardly, his uncle rolling upright on unsteady feet.

“Uncle,” Arthur hurried to assist Agravaine, who pushed aside Arthur’s hands. 

“It’s time I left, I think,” Agravaine half muttered. Arthur hadn’t gotten nearly all he wanted from the man, but there was a set to Agravaine’s face now – as though Agravaine had remembered why they never spoke of Igraine and was determined to continue his silence. Arthur wanted to curse, but he held his tongue, holding back his frustration as best he could. 

Arthur followed Agravaine to the door, pulling his uncle’s coat from the closet and trying to think of something – anything – he could pull from the man before he disappeared.

“I loved my sister,” Agravaine said in a low voice, one hand clenched around the handle of the door. “You and Uther…do not ask me of her again.”

Arthur stood in silence, feeling completely blindsided. The last sound was the echo of the door pulled shut hard against its frame as Agravaine disappeared into the dark.

**::**

“George?” Merlin put down the filter he was holding with a clatter, rushing over to where George had stumbled into the café. He was supported by a tall, unfairly fit man that had an arm under George’s shoulders. “What happened?”

The stranger glanced up at Merlin with dark brown eyes and Merlin did his best to ignore them as he was helping the man get George into a chair. “A group of hoodies tripped up your friend here,” the man said. He knelt down, his hands feeling their way about George’s ankle with a clinical proficiency.

“Littering!” George proclaimed loudly. “They were littering in the public market. Scoundrels have no sense of propriety, of pride in their city and borough!”

“Yes, that too,” the man said with a bit of a chuckle. “Looks like you’ve just got a bit of a twist. A few days, you’ll be right as rain.”

George ignored the man, clearly still caught up in his rant against the decline of public decency, so Merlin held out a hand. “Merlin Emrys – thank you for rescuing our damsel.”

“Lance. Lance Dulac,” Lance replied with a smile. His grip was firm and assured and Merlin wondered for an instant if it might be worth trying with this man – see if he was up to going for drinks or if he was depressingly straight despite his charms. He didn’t have a ring, and that was already a mite more encouraging than other avenues of thought. “He’ll be alright in an hour or so, once the shock wears off; I think the most damage happened when he tripped himself up giving chase.”

Merlin eyed George and shook his head slightly. “He’s not in shock, that’s his normal state of being.”

Lance gave a chuckle. He was looking at Merlin speculatively but Merlin felt strangely at ease despite that. “A good friend of mine knows a Merlin Emrys,” Lance said. “I shouldn’t think there would be many of you around. Wouldn’t happen to be the same one, would you?”

“Depends on the friend, and what they’ve said about him,” Merlin replied.

“Her name’s Guinevere,” Lance offered. There was a soft something in his tone and Merlin knew two things from it. No, Lance wasn’t up for having a drink, and emotional masochism seemed to be something they had in common.

Merlin shrugged and wondered if he shouldn’t ask if the man wanted a drink anyhow – if no one had told him that Gwen was off the market. “I moonlight as a caregiver for her husband’s father.”

“Merlin, stop trying to pick up while you’re on the job,” Gilli called from the back, and Merlin sighed, shooting Lance a pained look. 

“Look, sorry. Thank you again for helping George.”

“Not a problem,” Lance said with an awkward smile. “Can I order something? I haven’t been back for a few years; still trying to relearn the neighbourhood.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, it’s on me.”

The next hour was a strangely surreal experience to Merlin, juggling the occasional customer and listening to Lance speaking of his life with Arthur and Gwen and Morgana as teenagers. Lance was easy to talk to, and more open than Merlin had expected when he first learned he was a friend of Arthur’s. Merlin found himself wanting to ask everything he could of Lance when it came to a young Arthur, and having to bite back the words, knowing Gilli was right there, storing everything for fodder later.

Somehow, between Lance ordering a second coffee and him saying goodbye, Merlin had agreed to go out with him and Gwen for lunch sometime in the near future. Merlin had watched Lance duck out on the street with a slightly dazed feeling. The one thing he knew now was that anything and anyone to do with Arthur Pendragon was a dangerous thing.

**::**

Arthur nudged the frame to a better angle, smiling faintly at the image of his mother with her arm laced through Uther’s. He picked it up, eyes tracing the curve of Igraine’s smile. She was wearing a long white satin dress next to Uther’s dark tuxedo and a bundle of red and golden yellow tulips held in one hand. She looked happy.

He was just setting the picture down when a thought hit him. _Lace and lilies_. This was his parents wedding picture. It was Agravaine’s sister’s wedding, he shouldn’t have forgotten the details so easily.

“Back again,” Uther commented as he limped into his study, leaning heavily on his wooden cane. Arthur nudged the frame back into place, straightening to face his father. “It’s not healthy for you – you should be living your life.”

“I’ve been going out. I know you likely wouldn’t approve, but I’ve been spending time with Gaius’ aide now that you’re on the mend,” Arthur said with more freedom than he would have before. He had decided that whatever this was, he wasn’t going to be ashamed of it, and he wanted Uther to know that. “He’s fascinating company.”

“That Emrys fellow?” Uther asked as he lowered himself into his dark leather chair.

“Yes. Merlin. I know you’ve never liked me associating with the _lower classes_ , but -”

Uther’s eyes snapped to Arthur’s. “When have I _ever_ said that?”

Arthur fist clenched briefly at his side, hidden from sight. “You’ve hated Guinevere for years.”

“Guinevere is a lovely woman.”

“And yet you objected to me marrying her,” Arthur couldn’t help but add.

Uther leant forward, bracing his arms across his legs. “That’s what you thought? Son, I watched the four of you grow up. I saw more than you give me credit for. I wanted you to think it through and not jump into something you would regret.”

“I don’t regret Gwen,” Arthur said firmly. “Gwen has always been a good friend to Morgana and I. It made sense.”

“Evidence rather suggested that of your friends, young Guinevere would not have been your first choice,” Uther said with a snort.

“I would never have touched Morgana.”

“No,” Uther agreed too smoothly. “I wouldn’t have allowed it.”  
_  
__Lance,_ Arthur’s mind helpfully supplied. _He thinks you were more attracted to Lance._ Arthur blanked, blinking at his father dimly. In that moment, Arthur wasn’t even sure if he could mount a plausible defence. He hadn’t even…he hadn’t thought of anyone when he was younger, Arthur realised, not seriously. Not the women his father introduced him to, not the girls in his year. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to look at the boys. Arthur wasn’t gay, he was just…Arthur.

“This Merlin character has changed you, Arthur,” his father said, with none of the hard derision Arthur had grown up learning to expect. _He’s changed you too_ , Arthur wanted to say. “He’s good for you.”

Arthur wasn’t certain what made him more speechless – the fact that his father had assumed for years that his son was gay, or the fact that Uther now seemed to be giving his blessing for Arthur to pursue a man. Or the concept that his father and wife _agreed_ on something.

Uther must have noticed the shell-shocked state he had left in his wake because he gave a heavy sigh that startled Arthur back into focus. “You’re not a label, you’re not broken and you’re not a disappointment, Arthur. You’re my son. And you have a right to be happy.”

Arthur had never felt more unsettled in his life.

**::**

Arthur stared at the stuffed envelope sitting on his coffee table with something that felt disturbingly like trepidation. He didn’t know just when he had developed an aversion to finding out what Percival had dug up on Unicorn, but now that the man had returned the results of his efforts, Arthur was reticent.

He let out a huff, reaching out and tearing into the packet.

It took him a moment to focus on everything that fell into his lap – there were photos and forms in amongst hand-written documents, employee records and bank statements. Arthur’s forehead creased as he withdrew one of the employee files, a small passport-sized photo stuck to the corner. It was a woman, with raven dark hair and blood red lips. Eyes a piercing clear blue. Arthur knew her from somewhere, he just couldn’t place it. _Nimueh Priest_.

Nimueh.

She was at his uncle’s funeral, Arthur realised. She had been arguing with his father. Arthur desperately wished he could remember more of the day, what they had been discussing, but nothing came to him. 

There was a sheet of listed employees of Unicorn, the four or five names Gwen had picked out of Camelot’s records and a handful of names he didn’t recognise. An Edwin Muirden, Ruadan Swift, Patrick Helios…Arthur shuffled through the papers, pulling out a large a4 size photo. It was a copy, the original having suffered creases in dark lines running across the page and a larger chunk taken out of the bottom left, but it was still clear enough to discern faces.

It was a group picture.

It was a group picture with _Uther Pendragon_ standing in the centre.

Arthur flipped the image over, scanning a hand-written list of names scratched into the back. Tristan du Bois. Igraine du Bois. Goloris Vivienne. Ambrosius Anhora. Uther Pendragon. Gaius Whiteman. Nimueh Priest.

Arthur didn’t know what to make of it. He eyed the rest of the stack he had yet to sort through and then the clock mounted on his wall. Guinevere would be gone for another three hours at least. Arthur had a great deal of reading to do in that time.

…

“Where did you say you found this?”

Arthur was staring out the dirty window of Pellinore’s office, arms crossed and not quite focused on the two squad cars crammed in the street below. The documents Percival had turned up had surprised even Arthur. And left more questions and blanks than he had started with. The more information Arthur had, the more he was beginning to realise this whole thing was so much bigger than he had anticipated. 

Arthur hadn’t told Pellinore his source of information, and he had no intention of doing so now. Instead, he said, “I want to see the file.”

“Active Police files aren’t on public record,” Pellinore said evasively. 

Arthur turned a hard stare on the Detective Inspector. Pellinore shifted in his seat. There was no question that Pellinore knew exactly what documents Arthur was asking for. They were the few Percival hadn’t been able to access, which considering what he _had_ accessed was saying something. There was a resigned slump to Pellinore’s shoulders; it confirmed what Arthur had already suspected. The police had gotten no further on their investigations regarding Owain.

“Uther Pendragon has been under surveillance for longer than you’ve been alive,” Pellinore said carefully. “I’ve been through the documents myself –“

“My father has never been arrested or charged for anything,” Arthur uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on Pellinore’s desk. “I want to know what the police are investigating.”

Their standoff lasted long enough that Arthur worried that he had pushed too far; he was asking a great deal of Pellinore. Just as Arthur was considering changing tactics, Pellinore’s eyes darted to look at the closed door of his office and back to Arthur’s.

“There was a fire,” Pellinore said.

Arthur stared blankly at the detective. _There was a fire_ , Mrs Satori had said in the back of Arthur’s mind. _Your father wants you home for the funeral._ “A fire?” Arthur asked carefully.

“One of Uther’s investments burnt down in the middle of the night.”

“The offices in Ipswich,” Arthur agreed, waiting for the detective’s point.

“It wasn’t an office,” Pellinore said with a small shake of his head. “It was a pharmaceutical lab.”

Arthur schooled his face, storing that away with the rest of the things he had learned that differed from what he had been told.

“Tristan DuBois and a handful of scientists were inside,” Pellinore said. “There wasn’t much to work with and it was written off as an explosion caused by an adverse reaction.” Pellinore could tell Arthur was waiting for something substantial with that information, something more than he had known for years, because he added, “The first post mortem report suggested that perhaps Tristan was dead before the fire started.”

“Why wasn’t there a murder investigation then?”

“…because the team revised their report within a few hours.” Pellinore’s fingers were drumming an uneven rhythm on his desk. “Nimueh Priest was overseeing the team.”

Red lips and blue eyes. The woman arguing with Uther. His uncle, Agravaine’s brother. Arthur didn’t know what to think.

“This whole matter is becoming something that is a danger to my family, Pellinore,” Arthur said clearly. He crossed his arms, levelling his gaze. “I understand that you have procedures and protocols, but I won’t have more bodies piling up because of them. I want to know what you know about Unicorn.”

Pellinore gave Arthur a measured look. He tapped the photo in Percival’s research. “There were rumours of this Unicorn operating thirty years ago,” he allowed. “I’ve seen reports that mentioned it one week and disappeared the next. Camelot established itself, and Unicorn disappeared. From what you’ve told me, this group isn’t as disbanded as we had thought.”

 _My father isn’t a part of it_ , Arthur wanted to say. Last year, he would have. Arthur knew Pellinore was watching him closely – he wasn’t concerned that the police thought he himself was complicit with whatever the hell was happening. If he was, he never would have come to Pellinore in the first place.

“The strange circumstances surrounding Noble’s death – they ring of some things from older files. Impossible things. I’ve been trying to piece it together for weeks now, but I don’t have the evidence. With this…” 

“It seems like this Unicorn has been careful so far,” Arthur said, frown settling heavy on his face. Camelot had somehow been financing the organization. Arthur wanted to know where that money was going, and what it was funding. He wanted to know what Agravaine was doing working for Uther if there was any suspicion that Uther was involved in his brother’s death. “What do you need to nail them to a wall?”

Arthur wanted to know why his _mother_ would have been part of something like Unicorn.

“It will take time to run these images through our systems, find these men. We might be able to track them back.” Pellinore looked tired, as tired as Arthur felt. “What we need is a change. Something that might draw the players out.”

“I might be able to help you there,” Arthur’s grip on his arms tightened briefly.

**::**

Arthur tapped the end of his pen in staccato rhythm, eyes trained on the space just left of focused. The pen was a silver piece with a 14ct gold clip – a gift from his father when Arthur first took his position in Camelot. Arthur hated it. At home, he had a stash of bic pens tucked away in odd places – he’d have them here too if Catriona didn’t have a mission to discard them at every opportunity. It was yet another reason Uther probably loved having her around; Uther put great stock in keeping up appearances.

Nothing had happened yet.

Arthur wasn’t certain that something _would_ happen, but not knowing was killing him. Surely someone in the department should have called or notified him of a discrepancy in their files by now – some lodged complaint from someone. _Something._  
  
Five days ago, Arthur had gone down to the bowels of the company. He’d cornered one of the younger accountants, William Deira, in his miniscule office crammed between the supply closet and fire exit, and stood over his shoulder as William systematically cut all payments to the ghost accounts Gwen had traced. William had been confused but obliging and had nodded at Arthur request that all inquiries regarding the decision be immediately redirected to Arthur’s direct office line. If Catriona wanted Arthur to be more forceful while sitting in his father’s chair, he would start here. If it helped Pellinore’s investigation, all the better.

But no one had called Uther’s phone.

Catriona hadn’t forwarded any messages regarding accounts from anyone attempting to bypass speaking to Arthur directly.

The monthly salary had gone out three days ago, and still no one had said anything.

Did that mean that no one knew it was happening? Was it just an accounting error or was the person responsible for it absent and thus unaware? Was it Uther’s idea? Was it some strange paranoia of his father’s, funnelling off his own money for a rainy day? If only Uther would notice its absence, and his illness made him unable to react – was that why Arthur hadn’t heard anything?

Had he been wrong about Unicorn being an active organization? What if it was Uther’s nod to the past, and Arthur’s father was the villain here? By involving Pellinore, Arthur could have just singlehandedly destroyed his family’s name.

Arthur didn’t like waiting.

He didn’t like not knowing.

Uther’s strength was growing, and no doubt he would start making noises about returning to his office as soon as he could shake off Gaius’ supervision. Arthur didn’t have long to get to the bottom of things, but then soon Camelot wouldn’t be entirely Arthur’s responsibility anymore. It would be a lie if Arthur said he wouldn’t be relieved to have the premature weight off his shoulders.

But in the meantime, he would have to push and watch and wait.

Arthur was terrible at waiting.

“Messages?” Arthur said, jabbing the button for his intercom with a bit more force than necessary.

“ _Nothing of concern_ ,” Catriona’s slightly tinny voice echoed back.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he snapped back. “Messages.”

There was a pause on the other end of the com before Catriona replied in a bland voice. “ _Vivian Goldmire confirms that she has Council planning permissions for the Dover, Edinburgh and Belfast projects. An invitation to you to attend the conference on Responsible Development hosted at Kensington Olympia dated two months. Two messages regarding waste management policy changes for offices in the Guildhall and Aldgate districts.”_

Arthur waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he let out a heavy sigh. He pressed down his intercom, giving a belated, “Thank you.”

The addition had likely undermined his authority with Catriona, Arthur realised tiredly. He rubbed his eyes, leaning back in Uther’s plush leather seat and resigned himself to the rest of his day.

**::**

Acting as Uther’s caregiver during his illness had begun to feel a bit like taking care of a surly, active toddler, Merlin groused to himself as he stumbled from room to room, pocketing medicine that shouldn’t be out, relocating liquors that kept being pulled from cabinets despite Gaius’ strict instructions, shifting glasses back from precarious counter and table edges where they had been forgotten.

This, Merlin determined, was why he never had the time or energy to clean his own flat when he got home. Probably. There was a good chance. 

There was the sound of something from the study – a chair being moved, a wooden drawer shutting. Merlin sighed. Uther was meant to be abed, sleeping off the last bout of independence. 

The study door was ajar rather than held open with the usual wedge shaped like a little bronze dragon and Merlin frowned. Gaius had said that Uther wasn’t to consider going back to work for at least a few months – Merlin wondered if he would have to stand his ground against letting Uther drive to the Camelot offices sometime soon. He didn’t relish the thought.

Merlin gripped the edge of the door, rapping sharply on the wood before he pushed it open.

It wasn’t Uther on the other side. For a moment Merlin stared blankly at Morgana.

Morgana straightened from where she was crouched over one of the lower drawers in Uther’s file cabinets, her hands reaching to straighten papers atop the desk, clearing her throat.

“Morgana,” Merlin said stupidly. He hadn’t even known she was in the house.

“Emrys.”

The silence stretched too long between them before Merlin coughed awkwardly and said, “I’m sorry, I thought Uther – _Lord Pendragon_ – was up and about again. He’s meant to be confined to bed rest for the night, ‘doctor’s orders’.”

Morgana’s stare was assessing and Merlin resisted the urge to shift under those green eyes. “That’s right,” she said after a moment. “He’s been ‘ _up and about’_ more often, thanks to you - if Arthur is to be believed, that is.”

“Arthur exaggerates.”

“I don’t think he does,” Morgana said. She closed the distance between them and Merlin felt the door jamb knock against his back, forcing him to hold his ground. “Thank you. We are ever so lucky to have you on our side.”

Merlin took her hand, nodding carefully in thanks. He had no proof that Morgana was anything other than the doting adopted daughter of Lord Pendragon, but the deep seated distrust still rolled in his stomach. She worried him.

But it wasn’t enough. If Morgana had ill intent, Arthur would never believe him without proof.

“You made quite the impression on Knight,” Morgana said when Merlin turned to leave. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Success has never sat well with him – it makes him prickly and selective in his work.”

Merlin sifted through his memory of Gwaine, trying to slot that description over the man he had met. It didn’t quite fit.

“Uther won’t need you much longer.” There was a quality to her voice that reached out and wrapped itself around his mind, seductive and cloying. “The Whitemans can take care of him – sign with me. Work for me.”

 _I work for Arthur,_ Merlin bit back. He frowned, wondering if he was imagining the faint orange glow that brushed across her eyes. His magic was bristling along his skin as though tensing for an assault and yet…“I’ll consider it,” he said. Whatever it was, the one thing he was certain of was that he didn’t want to be anywhere near her in that moment.

His response seemed to satisfy her somehow. Morgana’s shoulders relaxed and she nodded. 

Merlin made his escape.

**::**

The pub was a squashed freehouse tucked away in the basement of a string of shops, mostly forgotten and strictly visited by washed out locals, pensioners and the occasional lost tourist. It had seven chairs, none of which matched, and a handful of benches pushed against walls. There was one actual table in the joint, though since the pub’s menu only really consisted of chips and a meat plate Arthur wouldn’t have fed his fictitious dog, it was a relative non-issue. There were a few wobbly round knee-high cocktail tables scattered about. Most of the patrons grouped around the long bar top, reminiscing about the good old days, full of unity against the government and bigotry towards everyone else.

Next time Arthur needed a meeting spot, he would insist on being the one who chose it. If Percival didn’t want to be seen meeting, fine. The Waldorf had private lounges.

Arthur waited until Percival had returned, two dark stouts in hand, before he said, “I have another job for you.”

“You want information on your father,” Percival said without preamble. He passed one of the drinks across to Arthur and took a deep drink from his pint, shooting Arthur a knowing look when the glass lowered once more.

“Can you do it?” Arthur asked tersely. Arthur wasn’t in the mood for drinking, but he held onto his pint for appearances’ sake. “He’s not the sort to leave a trail.”

Percival nodded slowly, took a look at the dark recesses of his stout and gave it a swirl. He took another swig. “I thought you might be asking that.”

“How much time would you need?” Arthur asked. He had a lurking suspicion that once Uther was back up and functioning, any chance Arthur had at figuring this mess out would be long gone.

Percival dug through his bag and Arthur frowned as another manila envelope was withdrawn. “Call it intuition,” Percival said at Arthur’s look. “You might be surprised what I manage to dig up.”

“When did you do this?”

Percival shot Arthur a grin. “When I got curious. I guarantee you, it’s more than you’d think to ask for but you can be the judge of what you need when you’ve given it a once over. I’ll be billing you for travel expenses, by the way – some of that took quite some interesting side trips.”

“How are you finding this?” Arthur narrowed his eyes, assessing the giant of a man seated across from him. Gwen trusted the man – the mere suggestion that he was some sort of double agent had earned Arthur a snort and a cold shoulder. Arthur didn’t know the story behind the two of them – he knew next to nothing about Percival. He had lost his family young and gone into the police force. After a handful of years, he’d given that up too. Nothing that explained how the hell the man was able to get at things that even the police couldn’t verify.

“Magic,” Percival said in a low voice, tapping the side of his nose.

Arthur let him have it. Percival wasn’t likely to give up his sources to anyone, just as Arthur wouldn’t give up Percival. Not if his information kept coming through.

An hour later, when Percival and Arthur had drained two more pints and argued out the finer points of last year’s Ashes, Arthur waved him off into the night. When Arthur glanced back at the large retreating form he swore there was a slim woman keeping pace with the man, her long dark hair swaying against her short maroon dress. There was the sound of the pub’s door opening behind him and when he looked back, she was gone.

**::**

At least he didn’t need to write out everything by hand, Merlin thought dismally, fighting with the printer and the jammed sheets of self-adhesive labels. It was still going to take him hours to finish. Merlin groaned, scrubbing his hands through his hair. 

This was a perfect example of why Merlin desperately needed to figure out what to do with himself. Merlin outright refused to accept Morgana’s offer. There was something about Morgana that set him on edge – the more he ran the memory of coming across her in Uther’s study, the more he was convinced that not only did she have magic, but that she had tried to do something to him that night. If he never saw Morgana again, it would be too soon – but every time he saw Arthur, he would have to risk it. And for Arthur, he _would_ risk it.

Until then, Merlin was reduced to fighting with printers.

Now that he was needed less frequently at the Pendragon Estate, Gaius had been trying to find new ways to keep Merlin occupied in order to earn his wages. Reorganizing Gaius’ extensive, unorthodox medicine cabinets had been one of them. The cupboards were full to bursting with an assortment of glass bottles and paper packets stacked alongside more modern child-locked plastic cases. Dried herbs and powders were stored next to over the counter pills; at the back of one of the cupboards, Merlin had found what looked like a six legged frog suspended in a tightly sealed jar. How Gaius found anything was a mystery, but then Merlin supposed that was why he was stuck now doing what had to be one of the most mind-numbing experiences ever.

And on top of that, the printer had given up the ghost after spewing out only two sheets of labels, one of which was smeared and mangled beyond use anyhow. It might have actually been faster to do it by hand, he realised, giving the sheets a good yank. They tore.

Despite pushing eighty, Gaius Whiteman was an addict for technology. That being said, he didn’t always know how to maintain the things he collected, and Merlin had spent the better part of his morning tracking down ink cartridges for three different printing devices before he found one that fit. Merlin did not relish the thought of trying to get another of Gaius’ printers hooked up and functioning.

“Lunch, my boy,” Gaius said enthusiastically as he shuffled into the large workroom that doubled as a storeroom carrying a wide tray. He eyed the wooden table, covered in everything that Merlin had dug out of the recesses of the stranger cupboards and said, “Well, make room, then.”

Merlin was all too glad to set aside his work, leaping over to hastily brush things aside and clear a space. Gaius made a disapproving sound but thankfully didn’t comment on Merlin’s method.

“Hard at work, I see,” Gaius handed over an empty plate once he had set down his burden and Merlin was quick to pile it with Alice’s sandwiches. “I admit I expected the task to be further along by now.”

“I’m getting there,” Merlin said around a mouthful.

Gaius scooped up a bottle with one hand, giving it a once over and pushing it into one of the various groups that littered the surface. “You’re being careful, aren’t you Merlin?” Gaius asked with a raised eyebrow standing in judgement. “Mislabelling something could have disastrous results – particularly if you can’t identify the ingredient on sight.”

“I’m being careful, Gaius,” Merlin insisted.

“Can you tell the difference between Dragonsbane and feverfew?”

“One is more grey.”

Gaius gave him a stern look. “Which is more grey?”

Merlin chewed slowly, narrowing his eyes before he answered. “…feverfew.”

“Relying on lucky guesses will only get you so far, young man,” Gaius chided, reaching out and grabbing another bottle full of liquid so dark it was nearly pitch. Merlin put down his second sandwich at the look on Gaius’ face, pinched and unfamiliar.

“Gaius?” Merlin asked cautiously.

“Where did you find this?” There was something undefined in Gaius’ tone that sounded warning bells in Merlin’s head.

“One of the cupboards,” Merlin replied. “I think it was with the diphenhydramine citrate, and in front of the mutant frog.”

“That is an extremely rare Anura creature from the fens of Scotland with potent hallucinogenic qualities, Merlin, _not_ a mutant frog,” Gaius snapped. “And this,” he held up the dark liquid to the light, giving the bottle a little sloshing shake. “This should not be here.”

“What is it?”

Gaius pocketed the bottle and gestured at Merlin’s plate. “Finish eating. You’ve got a long day of work ahead of you, young man.”

“Gaius…”

“Not now, Merlin,” Gaius said, looking every one of his eighty years. “I need to be certain.”

**::**

Uther had been getting better. 

Uther was almost…Arthur shut down his brain, knowing that whatever he had thought, whatever he had hoped, his father had been sick. Gaius had warned him, had been warning him for months, preparing Arthur for the worst.

His father was dead.

Arthur felt numb.

There was an umbrella he had stuffed clumsily in the boot of his car; Gwen hadn’t said anything, though he knew she had noticed. The sky was a clear sunny blue. It was hot enough that Arthur was sweating under his tailored black jacket. It wasn’t supposed to be.

It was supposed to be cold and miserable and raining at funerals. It was London, for god’s sake. It was supposed to be…

Arthur had been to a funeral only twice before. It had been raining on both, a horrible downpour as though the heavens had opened and dumped its grief on everyone in the graveyard. The one for Gwen’s father, and the one he could barely remember, dressed in a starched suit and stuck at his father’s side. Arthur had never even met his uncle Tristan.

It was supposed to be cold and miserable and raining at funerals. It was how the world said goodbye.

Lance had immediately offered to be one of Uther’s pallbearers, and he stood like a strong pillar just behind Arthur as they marched down the steps of the church. The other four men – his uncle Agravaine, Lord Godric Godwin, Lord Olaf Sommersby and Ector Fitzroy, Earl of Dorset – Arthur barely registered. Ector was awkwardly brash, Godric and Olaf kept up a litany of useless advice whenever Arthur was nearby – _Stiff upper lip, my boy._ _Don’t show the vultures your stomach, that’s the ticket._  
  
If it wasn’t for the silent presence of Merlin on his right and Guinevere on his left, Arthur wasn’t certain he would have made it through the ceremony at all. The coffin had been too light. The coffin had been too light, and Arthur could almost forget that his father was inside it.

Uther had an actual plot in Highgate, right next to Igraine, and the hole had gaped like a chasm as they approached. The pulleys were set up and waiting, the ground covered in a green AstroTurf for appearance’s sake. The church had been full. The cemetery was just the eight of them, the priest and a couple of hands that worked the grounds.

Arthur wanted all of them gone.

Merlin’s hand brushed against Arthur’s and Arthur tangled their fingers, gripping Merlin’s hand tightly, shielded from view. Not all of them. Everyone _else_.

He was Lord Arthur Pendragon now. There would be a will reading over the next few days, and then there would be the sorting out of Uther’s affairs and the righting of the estate. There was still his father’s company to run. Arthur’s company. There was still the police and Lance and the giant mess that was.

And his father was dead.

“Stay with me,” Arthur said, tilting his head, his voice barely audible. It didn’t matter, Merlin’s grip tightened briefly in his hand and the other man didn’t move to leave.

Gwen moved to stand before him with a deep sadness in her eyes and Arthur stared back blankly. Her hand was cold against his cheek when she leaned up and placed a kiss against his skin. She didn’t say anything, and for that, Arthur was grateful. She had gone silent earlier in the day, when Arthur had asked her to spend the night away, citing he needed to be alone to hold vigil for his father. He would be fine. He would see her the day after and she could mother him to her heart’s content.

Tonight, he wouldn’t be able to stand it.

Merlin waited for Arthur as he watched the cemetery clear until it was just the two of them and the two groundsmen waiting a respectful distance away. Waiting to take the grave apart, dismantle the winch and strip the ground of its dressings. Waiting to throw shovel after shovel of dirt on the thin layer of wood standing between Uther and the world. Arthur’s father was dead.

Arthur clenched his jaw, squared his shoulders and turned his back, marching off to where his car waited, dragging Merlin along behind him.

The drive was silent, though Arthur could feel the worried glances Merlin was shooting him every so often, the concerned analysing the other man was conducting when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking. Arthur knew that Merlin was wondering if Arthur should be behind the wheel at that moment. He was probably right, that Arthur should have had a chauffeur, but Arthur knew it and knowing was half the battle, wasn’t it? Sheer willpower was the rest.

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur said calmly after the sixth or seventh time he caught movement in his periphery, a fidgeting where Merlin couldn’t help but worry his lip or drum fingers against his knee. 

“Arthur –“

“I’m _fine_.”

Merlin gave a sharp nod, crossing his arms across his body and hunching down in his seat. After a moment he said, “What are we doing here?”

Arthur jerked the stick shift into park and let his head fall back against his seat. It was Merlin’s place, the small cramped bachelor flat tucked away in Kentish Town. “Can I come up?” Arthur asked carefully.

Merlin studied his face quietly and Arthur thought for a moment he would say no. Arthur didn’t have a contingency plan for Merlin saying no – he didn’t want to go to an empty home, his or Uther’s. He didn’t want to spend the night camped out on Lance’s couch with the heavy claustrophobic sympathy emanating from Gwen. Merlin’s flat – it was cramped and more than a bit of a tip…but it was comfortable. It was _different_. It was what Arthur needed.

Merlin let out a soft huff and said, “Yeah.” To Arthur, it was an invitation to sanctuary.

There were too many stairs involved in getting to Merlin’s flat, Arthur decided. But it was good. He needed something normal. Something to distract himself. Counting the steps, watching Merlin’s profile as he kept his eyes on the way ahead. Merlin fumbled with his keys and Arthur waited patiently. He knew he was standing too closely at Merlin’s back. He knew, and he didn’t care.

Merlin’s flat was just as messy as Arthur remembered it being. Arthur watched Merlin putter about, muttering as he scooped up discarded shirts and stuffed everything under the bed as though Arthur would forget about them if he could see less of them sticking out. It made Arthur smile softly.

“You want tea? Or…” Merlin gestured vaguely and frowned. “No, I think tea’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

Arthur let himself collapse in Merlin’s one overstuffed armchair. It felt familiar in a way it had no right to after only one hazy night and already Arthur never wanted to leave. He didn’t want tea, not really, but he said, “Yeah. That’s fine.”

He was glad he had, as Merlin’s shoulders relaxed a bit at having something to do. Even the sound of Merlin moving about, trying not to trip over things as he reached for his mug and settled the cheap plastic kettle into its base to boil, was comfortable. Arthur found himself getting quietly to his feet and padding over, eyes tracing the curve of Merlin’s jaw as the man focused on his task.

Arthur closed his eyes. He wanted -

He knew how he wanted to forget his troubles; how he wanted to distract himself that evening if only to pretend for a time that everything was normal and everything was right. When Merlin turned to say something, Arthur moved forward, pinning Merlin against the tiny kitchenette with hands spread wide across slim hips.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Merlin said cautiously. Arthur could feel the tension running through the body beneath his, and he leaned closer, pressing his face against Merlin’s neck. He counted it a small victory when he felt Merlin’s hands hesitantly creep up his back, gripping his shirt. When Arthur pressed a kiss against that skin he felt Merlin shiver, taking the sound that emerged as permission to continue his exploration, the hands against his back twitching in encouragement. He got about as far as untucking Merlin’s shirt before the body under his questing hands tensed once more and Arthur found himself forced away, stumbling awkwardly against the narrow twin bed.

“You have just had a very difficult day, Arthur,” Merlin was saying and Arthur nodded, not really listening beyond watching Merlin’s mouth moving. “This here…this is making bad decisions. Decisions you will regret in the morning. Decisions _I_ will regret –“

Merlin was talking too much. Arthur grabbed Merlin by the back of the neck, hauling him forward and pressing his lips to Merlin’s mouth. He let his other hand pull Merlin up against him, follow the path of his spine and the seam of his trousers until he could feel every inch of Merlin pressed against his front. He wanted Merlin to stop being so damn noble; to let himself just _accept_ this, give Arthur what he needed and take something for himself in return. Arthur had never done this before, but he knew what he had been dreaming of. He could make it good. He could –

Merlin’s eyes seemed to glow and Arthur found himself pushed away with a force he hadn’t expected Merlin to possess. This time when Arthur stumbled, he fell hard against the side of the bed, landing on the ground at Merlin’s feet.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, keeping his eyes on the ratty old rug by his knee. “I’m sorry.” God, he was so stupid. He could see Merlin’s feet still standing in place before the knees bent and he turned to face Merlin’s grim expression. Arthur closed his eyes and Merlin’s hand reached out, resting warm and gentle against his forehead like a strange benediction. Something peaceful crept into him then, something he couldn’t properly explain and he felt himself drifting off to sleep, propped awkwardly against Merlin’s bed.

**::**

“Gaius!”

It was four in the morning, the fog was still settled low on London and Merlin was filling the silence with the sharp continuous rap of the knocker on Gaius’ Kew home. It had taken him two buses and a night bus to get there; he’d gotten lost somewhere around Hammersmith and had to redirect himself. It hadn’t quite dawned on him that it was no longer the late night he had started at and progressed into the _too ridiculously early_ hours. What Merlin knew was that after manhandling Arthur into his narrow bed and staring at the man’s prone body for the better part of two hours, staying in his flat any longer was increasingly becoming a phenomenally bad idea.

So he did the only thing he could think of: find Gaius and work through his problems. Because he had problems, and owning up to his miscalculations and facing Gaius’ disapproval was infinitely more manageable than facing Arthur _the morning after_ – even if nothing technically _happened_. Even _thinking_ of dealing with Arthur in close quarters over a bowl of Tesco brand cereal solidified the knowledge that Merlin was well and truly fucked.

“ _Gaius!”_ Merlin called for what felt like the nth time, bent down and pushing his fingers through the brass plated mail slot. A few of the neighbour’s lights had turned on and Merlin winced, crouching low and peering through the slot hoping they couldn’t see him. There was shuffling inside. Merlin caught sight of Gaius tying a dressing gown about his waist and let the flap fall shut with a clank.

The door flew open to a distinctly unimpressed Gaius. He stared at Merlin. Merlin stared back.

“It’s half four in the morning,” Gaius stated.

“I think I caught what Uther Pendragon had,” Merlin blurted out.

Gaius blinked, hesitating a moment longer before he sighed, stepping aside. “I think you had better come in.”

“Start from the beginning,” Gaius said once he had settled into his chair. He had made a pot of tea that now sat steaming on the side table, and Merlin was more grateful for than he could explain.

Gaius had said from to start at the beginning, so Merlin did. He spoke of the darkness, of the oily feeling that lingered, the taint that seeped into his bones. He spoke of the nightmares and the faintness and the thoughts that had been running circles in his head. Of how being near Arthur helped, filled him with good thoughts and warm feelings and how that wasn’t an option anymore. How he worried that the darkness inside was starting to affect Arthur, maybe; turn him into something he wasn’t deep down. How the further he was from Arthur, the less focused he felt. He didn’t say how that terrified him – the thought that without Arthur he would fade away, an invalid until he too was six feet under the ground.

Gaius let him get it all out, sipping his tea without interruption until Merlin fell silent, picking at one of the throw cushions on the sofa awkwardly. Gaius waited a moment longer until he was certain that Merlin had finished, not just gathering another breath to begin anew. He set his tea cup aside.

“You’re not going to die, Merlin.”

“You don’t know that,” Merlin argued. 

Gaius responded with a raised eyebrow until Merlin fell silent again. “Uther was poisoned with a very particular and very r _are_ compound. It was, quite literally, a miracle that you came along when you did, or his death would have come much sooner, untraceable perhaps to even one with your particular talents.”

“I could feel it inside me, Gaius – I –“

“What you felt was an echo,” Gaius said firmly. “The magic in the compound called to the magic inside you, and twisted as it was, affected yours rather unpleasantly. With Uther’s death, the qualities of the poison were nullified.”

“Being near Arthur still –“ Merlin fell silent at the look Gaius shot him. 

“You are a young man with…needs,” Gaius replied, and Merlin futilely wished he wasn’t going as red as he felt. “Feelings of euphoria and warmth are only to be expected. I should warn you, however, that while you both have clean bills of health, regular check-ups –“

“ _Not_ a problem,” Merlin interjected. He grasped for something, anything to get them off the topic once more. “How do you know what was affecting him?”

Gaius rubbed his forehead briefly. “I married a foremost expert on the subject. Once I knew what to look for, the symptoms were staring me in the face. I only wish I had known sooner.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I woke you both up, I should apologise to Alice I –“

“Sit down, Merlin.”

Merlin hesitated at the weariness in Gaius’ tone, easing himself slowly back onto the sofa. On a regular night, Alice would have come downstairs to see what was going on. She hadn’t. They had been talking for so long, and she hadn’t come down.

Alice wasn’t home.

“Gaius, where is Alice?” he asked softly. Alice was a foremost expert on the subject. Alice should have recognised the symptoms _. You don’t know his past. Sometimes the worst of us are the best at hiding it._  
_And what happens when the caster discovers what you’ve done?_  
__  
Merlin had been preparing for a confrontation, a good old show down or a sneaky side assault on him. He hadn’t expected the person to just outright kill Uther. Was that it then? What was Merlin meant to do with that?  
_  
_ “She’s gone away for a little while,” Gaius said after a moment. 

“Gaius…”

Gaius gave a heavy sigh, tapping his fingers against the soft wing of his armchair. “When Uther was young,” Gaius said, “he was talented, brilliant and ambitious. He made many people envious – often nervous - and he cut through many more to get where he was. His son is, in many ways, quite like him. But the Arthur Pendragon you know possesses a…nobility, perhaps, that his father did not.”

Merlin waited, trying not to picture Arthur with his golden hair and red lips and stupid blue eyes snoring away in his bed for the _second time_. _Nobility._ He had the nobility in spades alright, Merlin thought miserably, remembering Gwen and her warm smiles and soft acknowledgments. But he knew what Gaius meant – it was what made Arthur so damn attractive in the first place. And this wasn’t about Arthur, this was about what was happening with Gaius and Alice and Uther and Merlin had the feeling it was something he should know about.

“I believe…” Gaius fell silent. He looked tired and old and after everything he had done for Merlin, Merlin still didn’t know how to ease his pain.

 _“_ You think she did it.” _You think she killed Uther,_ Merlin couldn’t bring himself to say.

“I believe she may have played a part,” Gaius conceded. 

“Why would she have?”

“I met Alice when I was young,” Gaius said. “She was a brilliant witch and an avid student, and together we did great things. I don’t think it’s…Shortly after meeting Alice, I was fortunate enough to gain the notice of a unique and eccentric old man. He spoke with Alice’s passion for bettering the world and advancing mankind…and I was drawn into a world few were ever privy to.”

There was a distant quality to Gaius’ voice in the soft glow of his table lamp and Merlin knew he was reliving parts of his life. Merlin wondered if that eased the pain or compounded the reality once the sunlight eventually came to force them into the new day.

“Ambrosius Anhora,” Gaius said almost wistfully. Merlin wondered if he too was dead now, if Gaius was alone amongst the spectres of his past. “He was a man unlike any other. He wanted to create a society wherein those with magic and those without could forge a new future, and he went about collecting the best and the brightest he could find. Nimueh Priest, Tristan du Bois and myself, Igraine, Goloris and Uther. He called it _Unicorn_. He never invited Alice, and at the time, she said she was fine with that – that her research and her patients were more important than Anhora’s Utopia.

“We also did great things. By collaborating with Anhora’s group, my research seemed limitless. I found cures and treatments that were unimaginable, things I can’t even hope to replicate alone in my labs. But at the time, I wasn’t interested in saving people, not like Alice was; I was interested in knowledge. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge. I used my connections to research everything to do with magic and illness. I took research home.”

Gaius glanced down at his hands. He looked towards the front door. “To find a cure, you must have something _to_ cure.”

Merlin remembered the black vial from the cabinets, the one that had put Gaius on edge.

“Uther encouraged my research, they all did. We fed upon hubris and avarice. Anhora was judging us all the while.  
Alice warned me, you know- Uther was adamant that research not go to waste, that both the cures and the illnesses had great potential – a biochemical weapon mixed with magic, untraceable, diagnosable only by those who knew what to look for. And we had that. Nimueh had already created a liquid toxin that caused cardiac arrest, belladonna tinctures and mandrake roots that caused concentrated hallucinations. Alice and I had our first big row over it when she found out. We worked it out, but she stopped sharing her research.”

“What happened with Unicorn?” Merlin asked. “Are the other still around?”

“Not as a group, no,” Gaius said tiredly. “I like to think I would have come to my senses and quit like Alice wanted me too even without the upheavals. Igraine married Goloris within a few months of meeting him, and stepped back from Unicorn when she learned she would be a mother. Looking back, it was when it became apparent Igraine was with her first child that the dynamics of our little group began to change. At the time, I thought it was because Uther and Nimueh had started chafing at Anhora’s restrictions on the use of magic. Uther had always seen magic as a failsafe solution for everything; his ‘golden ticket’, as it were, to dominate the world. Nimueh was only too happy to indulge him and I was so rooted in my study that everything else became almost secondary. Anhora, I am sure, saw all this and more. He saw Uther’s growing obsession and inability to let go of an idea once he had it. He saw the way Uther coveted Igraine, and he likely knew what the rest of us didn’t – that the child growing inside of Igraine was Uther’s, not Goloris’. 

“Anhora disbanded our group. He said it hadn’t passed his tests, and we hadn’t learned what he had hoped we would. We never heard from him again. But by then, Uther had already forged alliances with powerful men and the rest of Unicorn and from that sprang Camelot.”

“Did you make what poisoned Uther?” Merlin asked quietly, not really wanting to know the answer. Not if it wasn’t a big emphatic _no._  
_  
_ “I had the theoretical formulae to create it,” Gaius said after a moment. Merlin just stared back at him, uncertain how he should take that. Gaius turned his gaze on Merlin as if contemplating what he should say. “We never made it, my boy. When Anhora cut us loose, it was as though a curse had fallen on us all. Goloris died abroad, setting up an international office for Camelot. Igraine married Uther, and died giving birth to Arthur. Uther and Tristan turned on Nimueh and she disappeared to the winds. Tristan died in a fire a few years later. I stopped everything. When all these tragedies were falling around us, I just thought Alice was right. Anhora was right. I locked my research away and dedicated myself to my Hippocratic oath.”

“Alice knew your research,” Merlin said carefully.

“I don’t think she’s wholly to blame, Merlin,” Gaius said tiredly. “Poison was never her strength, and it was a very complicated formula.”

“The vial you found,” Merlin began.

Gaius shook his head. “It was just one component. A rare one, one I didn’t think I had. Maybe I did. It’s not enough, Merlin.”

Merlin looked down, worrying his empty teacup between his fingers. Merlin wasn’t wholly convinced that Gaius wasn’t at least marginally blinded when it came to Alice, but if he was right… it was possible that she had merely provided Gaius’ research. Maybe she didn’t know what she was aiding. Maybe she ran because she knew she would be framed. Maybe there was another viper in Uther’s life.

In Arthur’s.

“I’ll tidy up,” Merlin said, rising from his seat. Gaius raised an eyebrow and Merlin gave him a small smile, collecting the remnants of their impromptu tea. “You have patients to see after lunch and some thoughtless person disturbed your beauty rest. Can’t let them see you all ogre-y and grumpy, now can we?”

“You are an impertinent rascal.”

Merlin pulled on a grin, disappearing into the kitchen. 

He took his time washing the cups and saucers, mulling over what he knew in concentric circles until his tired brain just caught on one loop. Morgana was Arthur’s sister. Morgana had orchestrated Merlin’s absence the night Owain had died. Morgana’s pills. Morgana rooting about in Uther’s study. Morgana and _magic_.

Merlin was an idiot.

By the time he had finished drying and storing he was dead on his feet, exhausted from so many angles he didn’t know how he made it back to the living room at all. Gaius had left a pillow and a blanket draped over the back of his sofa for him – Merlin just dragged them both down and curled up to sleep.

**::**

Arthur was an idiot.

In his whole life, Merlin had been the only one to ever turn down Arthur’s advances. It was that experience that made Arthur realise in his whole life, Merlin had been the only person Arthur had genuinely _wanted_ to make advances _on_. 

In the past, he’d flirted with girls, and the occasional boy, to prove he could, or to entertain himself or simply to rile Morgana up a little through the day. He’d never flirted with Gwen, not seriously – he hadn’t even been the one to take the first step with her three years ago, she had kissed _him._ They had fallen into things, and the whole situation had been convenient and comfortable…and they had become _trapped_.

Arthur had never wanted to hurt Gwen.

Last night – Arthur had fallen to impulse and _Merlin_ of all people had been the noble one, the one to have a clear head and the ability to say no. Again. Merlin’s reasoning had been ridiculous but right, on both counts. Ridiculous, because Arthur still wanted Merlin in the light of day – had wanted him for some time now, whether he had admitted it to himself or not – right, because Arthur hadn’t said or done anything to let Merlin know that. That  
Merlin wasn’t just a stop gap for the aching hole in Arthur’s life. 

Arthur was an idiot. He needed to let Merlin know he wasn’t just messing about; he needed to know if Merlin was even interested in return. He needed - 

With Lance and Gwen and Merlin – it wasn’t _fair_. It wasn’t fair to any of them. Gwen didn’t deserve to feel guilty and torn because of her emotions. Merlin didn’t deserve to feel caught in the middle of Arthur’s mire of a personal life. Lance didn’t deserve to be strung along in the middle ground of not-quite-affair, not-quite-friendship – although, he kind of did, Arthur thought uncharitably. And, Arthur admitted, it wasn’t fair to himself. He didn’t want to live a life wondering what could have been, what might have been – he didn’t want to watch more of his life crumble to dust as he and Gwen and Lance and Merlin became bitter and resentful of the things they hadn’t allowed themselves to chase.

He couldn’t force Gwen and Lance to pick up where they left off. He couldn’t force Merlin to recognise what Arthur was only just realising he wanted to offer him. But there _was_ one thing that Arthur could do to free them all. There was one thing, backed by the papers half-signed and waiting for one more scrawl.

When Gwen arrived home that evening, Arthur was waiting propped up against the back of the sofa. He watched her with arms crossed as she stripped off her scarf and hung her coat in their hallway closet. Gwen was a little more pale than Arthur remembered her being before this all began, a little more drawn and hunched in on herself. Gwen shouldn’t look like that, Arthur thought firmly. He couldn’t stand by and watch her become this shade of herself when he had the power to fix things. 

“Do you love him?” Arthur said abruptly. Gwen had just entered the living room, eying him speculatively as though trying to divine his mood. Arthur wanted to curse, but held it in – he hadn’t meant to lead with that at all. This wasn’t...

“Arthur…” Gwen’s expression broke him a little bit more. 

Arthur quickly stepped forward, pulling her into a hug, pressing a kiss against her hair. “I didn’t mean it like that – I…god. It’s alright to love him Gwen. I’m not accusing you and this isn’t about…” 

He couldn’t think of the right thing to say. He’d run it over a hundred times in his head before she got home, and a hundred times more before and after speaking to their lawyer. _I think I might be in love with someone else too_ , Arthur could say. _I think I might be in love with Merlin._ “I’ve always thought we could talk to each other,” Arthur tried instead, and dear god does he feel terrible at this sort of thing. “We both want different things now than we did three years ago. Our marriage…”

Gwen felt like solid rock in his arms, her hands clenched tightly in the back of his shirt. “I want to make this work. I never thought – I’m not this kind of person, Arthur,” Gwen said plaintively. “I believe in marriage - you wanted me to spend more time with –“

“Gwen. Guinevere.” Arthur tightened the arm about her waist and holding her head softly against his shoulder. “It’s alright. I know. But honestly think. Our lives were a mess back then. And marrying you - I don’t regret a single day. We married to give each other a chance at having a real family. The world was falling to pieces and you were the only thing that made sense. 

“I want a divorce so that you can be free, Gwen, but I want…fuck,” Arthur buried his face against Gwen’s neck, trying to order his thoughts. He had never focused on what he wanted before; he had never allowed himself to _want_. But he did. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, “but we’re falling apart.”

“I married _you_ Arthur, whatever Lance and I have – _had_ –“

“I went home with Merlin,” Arthur interrupted before she could gain steam. “After…I went home with Merlin. He turned me down, Gwen, but I…” Arthur’s throat felt tight and he was glad that Gwen was close enough that he didn’t have to meet her eyes. 

They stood in silence, holding each other upright until Gwen’s fingers uncurled, lying flat against Arthur’s shirt. Arthur’s shoulders slumped and Gwen stood there holding him in place, waiting.

“It’s me, Gwen,” Arthur said quietly. “I want a divorce for both of us, because I still…”

“Oh, Arthur.”

“Lance is back, Gwen. I want to say that he’ll never hurt you, or walk away again, but I don’t know if that would be a lie,” Arthur swallowed hard. “I do know that you love him, you always have. You owe it to yourself to at least try. And hell, what kind of a man would I be if I didn’t let you pursue a chance at true love? If Lance had stayed, don’t tell me you would have accepted me as a husband.” 

“Like I had a queue of prospects,” Gwen snorted softly against Arthur’s shoulder. “Why’d you pick me, Pendragon?”

“I had a rash of walking arranged marriages vying to break down my door and you were the one woman who didn’t demand three corgis and enough diamonds to purchase a reasonably sized island country,” Arthur replied, thankful Gwen was letting him pretend he hadn’t broken, letting him keep his pride, however small. “You are beautiful, strong and everything I could have wanted in a wife. For god’s sake, you’re even an arsenal of bakers compressed into one person.” Arthur was quiet for a moment, rubbing small circles into Gwen’s back. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I love you Gwen, but not like Lance does. You are, and will always be, my best friend. As far as endings go, I think ours is a rather amicable one.”

“You know, Morgana said it would end like this,” Gwen said quietly against his shoulder. “I never believed her.”

“Morgana is a vicious harpy,” Arthur snorted. “Letting her speak at all is the first mistake.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Gwen said, content and relaxed against Arthur, and Arthur wondered if there wasn’t a bit of teasing in her tone.

Arthur continued to rub Gwen’s back for a moment before he responded. “Yeah. I really do.”

He just needed to convince Merlin of that.

**::**

The office was too small for Arthur’s taste. The whole affair already set him on edge, even with Gwen’s reassuring presence sitting next to him. Adding Morgana and the blonde woman that was apparently her cousin and lawyer in one, his father’s estate lawyer and Agravaine just made Arthur yearn for the comfort of home. There was only so long he could put this off though, and he had never been one to run.

Despite the legalese it was couched in, Uther’s will wasn’t unexpected in the least. Uther’s estate would not be held in an Estate Trust, it would pass to his firstborn Arthur Pendragon. Morgana would receive a substantial monetary endowment which was more than enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life as well as the Pendragon country home in Devonshire. She was already an heiress in her own right – Uther had ensured that when her father Goloris had died. When Morgana came of age and the trust fund was released to her, she had been wealthier than any teenager had right to be.

“That’s what it says?” Agravaine had asked once Geoffrey had finished. There was something in his tone that made Arthur frown and Gwen stare outright.

“Well, yes,” Geoffrey blustered, shuffling back through his papers and looking like he was ready to launch into a complete rereading any moment.

“No,” Agravaine held up a hand. “Once was enough, thank you.” He got to his feet, straightening his jacket.

“You’re leaving?” Gwen stood and Arthur let her. Agravaine was likely just insulted – he had dedicated his life to Uther’s business ventures, surely he had expected some sort of gesture on Uther’s part. But Uther was a traditionalist. The choice to leave everything to primogeniture was not only unsurprising but really the only option Uther had; Arthur was the only family Uther had. God forbid he left anything to charity or the State.

Agravaine’s face shifted from something that was disturbingly bitter to a wide grin that Arthur had seen so many times before. It was a mask, Arthur realised, as much as Gwen’s or his own. None of them were honest. None of them were transparent. “No need to stay about in this dreary old place listening to the words of fools. The whole world is waiting, my dear.”

Geoffrey made an affronted noise from his desk but Arthur was watching Morgause. There was a smirk on her face, and she in turn was watching Morgana. For a brief moment, Arthur wondered if Agravaine was speaking of Geoffrey or taking a dig at Uther’s words themselves. He _was_ upset over the will, Arthur decided, Agravaine just wouldn’t show it.

They let Agravaine leave, waiting for Geoffrey to get himself organized after the interruption, finding the papers Arthur and Morgana would need to sign to sort out the estate. Morgause made a point to request copies of everything for her records and Gwen followed suit though Arthur knew it was all rather straight forward. Gwen was a firm believer of having things filed away and she would make sure Arthur had what he needed. He would have to do that for himself soon, Arthur thought distantly; he wouldn’t have Gwen shadowing his steps and making sure he was looked after. He might not have anyone.

Afterwards, Morgana hadn’t said a word, and Arthur didn’t fault her. He didn’t know what to say to her either. He wanted to keep her close, though; maybe they would have dinner and somehow figure out how to be their version of siblings once more, however fractured. Gwen would know what to do. But by the time Arthur decided that, the blonde Morgause had wrapped an arm about Morgana’s waist and swept her away into a dark waiting car.

“Are you alright?” Gwen’s hand squeezed lightly on Arthur’s arm and he glanced down at it before meeting her eyes. Was he alright? Of course he was. He was alive. He had just inherited more money and property than perhaps even the Crown possessed. And yet he still wanted to crawl back into worn plaid sheets and pretend for a time that was all the universe there was.

“Yeah,” he said with as much confidence as he could gather. Arthur had too much to do for him not to be alright. He needed to sort out Unicorn. He needed to protect his father’s legacy.

Gwen didn’t really have the time to spend keeping Arthur company. Arthur could afford to take the time off work to pull himself together if he needed it – he owned the company now and he had ensured that he had strong people holding important posts that could respond to crisis without him having to hold their hands every step of the way. But Gwen – Gwen was the heart and drive of her work. Her strength was in pursuing every opportunity and every donor personally, courting them and holding them to her cause. Arthur refused to be the one that held her back.

She didn’t look convinced, but he gave her a small smile. “You have plans, and I will be fine,” he said. “Go save the world.”

He had a long night ahead of him working through Percival’s research anyhow.

“Call Merlin,” Gwen said firmly. Arthur hadn’t thought that Gwen could startle him anymore, but he stared at her now and she stared right back. “I’m going to stay the night at Lance’s. You need someone, Arthur, you always have.”

Arthur caught up Gwen’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I never deserved you, Gwen.”

“I want a play by play, Arthur Pendragon. Every sordid detail,” Gwen said and Arthur let out a bark of a laugh in the early afternoon light.

**::**

Merlin didn’t know why he had agreed to get a taxi all the way to St John’s Wood when Arthur had rang him. Maybe it had something to do with the way he had sounded, the broken edge to his tone despite his words. No one had any right to sound like that.

“Merlin,” Arthur said when he opened the door and Merlin shifted awkwardly at the top of the stairs leading down to the street.

“It’s a Friday night, Arthur – do you have any idea how long it took to flag down a cab in Camden?” Merlin said, trying to sound more irritable than he felt. Mostly, all he could feel was an ill nervousness with a bit of unbridled concern thrown in the mix. Merlin had seen Arthur pale and drawn, and he had seen him drunk and falling over his own feet – what Arthur was _now_ was something that Merlin didn’t quite know what to call. There was a blankness in his eyes Merlin didn’t know how to quantify. 

Merlin trailed after him as Arthur disappeared into the house, shutting the door while he kept an eye on him. Arthur’s house was different to Uther’s in every way. His walls were full of _things_ , shelves with carefully ordered knick knacks, photos of Arthur, of Gwen, of groups of friends. Walls had colour to them, not just the pale magnolia washed over everything. The furniture was modern over antique, with the occasional element that gave a feel of vintage over musty wealth.

Arthur’s was a _home_.

Everything was tidy. Merlin grimaced a bit, remembering the disaster he had unsuccessfully kicked under his bed both times Arthur had dropped by unannounced. In the living room though there were papers and photos strewn across a low coffee table. Merlin frowned, glancing between it and Arthur’s stony face.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked. He already knew – that was the horrible thing about questions like that.

The way Arthur pulled his face into a smile and said, “Of course, _Mer_ lin,” made Merlin’s chest hurt. He watched Arthur turn away, shuffling into an adjoining room, calling, “Fancy some torte? My kitchen is a bloody bakery at the moment.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said distractedly, scanning the documents he could see while Arthur was out of sight. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t invading Arthur’s privacy, but he was, despite the fact that Arthur seemed to have made no effort to hide anything. Something in the pile must hold a key to what had happened to Arthur. He needed something to work from if he was going to have a hope of sorting this out.

“It’s alright,” Arthur said from the doorway, leaning with arms crossed against the doorjamb. He hadn’t brought any torte.

“This is about your parents,” Merlin said slowly. Arthur had found on his own what Gaius had already known. Gaius had said that Uther had erased Igraine’s past, had erased anything and everything that hinted that Igraine DuBois had ever been anything other than just that – had erased anything that might suggest Morgana wasn’t the direct heir of the Vivienne fortunes. Merlin understood that part at least – if Goloris’ relatives knew Morgana’s parentage, her life would be torn apart. But if Uther had done such a thorough job of it, how then had Arthur happened across any of it? 

“Mn,” Arthur agreed lightly. “Turns out they weren’t quite who I thought they were. I asked a friend to do some digging, before my father died.” Arthur’s hesitation over his words lasted only a fraction of a second, but Merlin filed it away with all the other hairline fractures that made up the man before him. “What?” Arthur asked when Merlin couldn’t think of anything to say, staring at the man before him.

Merlin wanted to pull Arthur close; wanted to let his magic breach the distance and wrap itself around Arthur’s light to ensure it never went out. If Gaius was right, and the effect Arthur had on him had nothing to do with the curse that had taken Uther – 

Arthur sank onto the couch. “There are times you never stop prattling on,” he said conversationally and Merlin watched Arthur’s hands clasped loosely, remembering those warm dry fingers pressed against his skin. “So go on.”

 _Why did you call me, Arthur?_ Merlin wanted to ask. But he didn’t have to. He could see in Arthur’s eyes something that Merlin had been hiding from for weeks. He didn’t want to be alone. Arthur needed Merlin in the way that Merlin needed Arthur – like being near him was finding salvation. There was a shadow building in Arthur that was different from Uther, but no less consuming in its own way. And in that realisation, it didn’t matter that Arthur was married to Gwen. It didn’t matter that they were both emotionally exhausted with lives bordering on ridiculous. What mattered was that Merlin could be there for Arthur.

Merlin didn’t let himself think as he drifted to stand over Arthur. Arthur was watching him with enquiring eyes, but he wasn’t saying anything, and for that Merlin was thankful. Merlin reached down and cupped Arthur’s face in his hands. His thumbs brushed across the strong cheekbones that had been etched into his mind since that first time he’d seen them. Arthur didn’t blink. He didn’t pull away, either.

Leaning down to press a chaste kiss against Arthur’s lips was really the only thing Merlin could do. Hands, the ones he remembered so well, came to rest on his hips like they belonged and Arthur was returning his kiss. It was different from his memory though – Arthur was being cautious, Merlin realised, pushing back only as far as Merlin gave. Merlin bit lightly on Arthur’s bottom lip, pushed forward and licked into Arthur’s unresisting mouth. He let his hands slip down to bunch in Arthur’s collar, willing him to react, to be as confident and strong as Merlin knew he was under that veneer. And finally, _finally,_ the fingers against his hips tightened and Merlin’s world was shifting. 

Arthur pulled him forward and he stumbled, falling awkwardly on Arthur’s lap. Arthur let out a breathless laugh. It was clear they weren’t going to be graceful, but it felt perfect all the same. ‘Getting it right’ was in that laugh, and in the looseness of Arthur’s shoulders and the light in his eyes. Getting it right was in the way Merlin felt light headed and happy for the first time in weeks, pushing aside every worry until later – _later_. Arthur ran his hands up and under the back of Merlin’s shirt, bunching it and pulling at it until Merlin let out a huff, wriggling to pull it over his head.

Arthur was staring at him with a sort of wonder in his blue eyes and Merlin flushed. He knew what he looked like; Arthur was clearly off his head. He distracted himself with the buttons of Arthur’s shirt and Arthur let him, Arthur’s hands rubbing along the thighs straddling his lap, inching ever closer to his groin. Gods, thought Merlin, Arthur’s hands would be the end of him.

“I like your conversation skills,” Arthur said as his hand traced lightly down Merlin’s ribs.

“Shut up,” Merlin muttered against Arthur’s cheek. “You’re not allowed to talk.”

Arthur’s hand slipped down the back of Merlin’s trousers, one dry finger running a questing line south. The thought of Arthur filling him, of being as close to that light as he could possibly be, made Merlin shiver. Arthur’s voice was husky against his ear, making Merlin’s mouth run dry when he said, “You have better use for my mouth then, _Mer_ lin?”

There was nothing remotely chaste about the press of mouths then and Merlin didn’t know if he would even last long enough to do anything beyond rutting against Arthur if Arthur continued to thrust up against him like that. Arthur was pressing kisses along Merlin’s jaw, distracting him from the thoughts he was trying to form. They were important thoughts. Thoughts that involved less clothes and more skin.

“Do you,” Merlin tried brokenly, his voice catching for a moment as he tried to order his thoughts once more under Arthur’s assault. “ _Have_. Do you have…anything?”

Arthur paused, pulling back to stare at Merlin with a confused frown on his face. When Merlin winced something seemed to click on Arthur’s face and he surged back, pressing a long, hard kiss against Merlin’s mouth. “Bedroom,” Arthur said between kisses. And somehow, impossibly, Arthur wrapped his arms under Merlin’s knees and stood. Merlin didn’t remember most of the journey from living room to bedroom; when his back hit a soft surface he was amazed Arthur had managed to get them there in one piece.

Merlin wrestled with his trousers, heart beating wildly and adrenaline coursing through him as he watched Arthur stripping quickly beside him. He couldn’t remember why he had ever thought this would be a bad idea. When Arthur was bare, Merlin had to reach down and grip himself, holding himself back from tipping over the edge. When he caught Arthur staring at him flushed and panting, Merlin had to close his eyes. 

There was the sound of Arthur fumbling in the bedside table, a soft curse followed by a distant sound that had Merlin cracking open an eye. Arthur re-emerged from the en suite with a large bottle and a bloody _handful_ of condoms. So many, in fact, that he dropped a trail on his way back to the bed.

“ _Some_ one certainly thinks much of themselves,” Merlin said with much less strength than he had wanted.

Arthur grinned, dropping them on the sheets and kissing Merlin soundly as he crawled over him. “I won’t have you mouthing off later that I didn’t bring enough.”

“You like my mouth,” Merlin said with a hiss, thrusting up into the hand that had replaced his own.

“I do,” Arthur agreed.

Merlin let out a startled gasp as Arthur poured cool lube over his cock, his head pressing hard into the mattress and hands gripping at sheets with near tearing force. Arthur was stroking him languidly, watching the slide of Merlin’s cock in his fist, Arthur’s own rubbing sticky trails across the skin of Merlin’s thigh. Merlin had nearly lost his words by the time Arthur’s fingers slipped behind his balls, stroking almost hesitantly. The sound that tore from his throat was part moan part curse. Arthur’s hands stilled.

“Come _on_ ,” Merlin forced out. He had gone too far to stop now, and he wanted Arthur inside him – and _Arthur_ \- Arthur wasn’t getting the message. Merlin twisted, pushing at Arthur until Arthur was cradled between Merlin’s legs.

Arthur stared down at him, brow creased. He hasn’t done this before, Merlin realised. Merlin reached up and dragged Arthur down for a kiss, his other hand scrabbling for where he thought the bottle had ended up. Goal achieved, Merlin pushed at Arthur’s chest until Arthur sat back. He didn’t want to consider the small flash of hurt that chased across Arthur’s expression, because ultimately Arthur was an idiot and he’d realise that soon enough.

Merlin hadn’t worked himself open for what seemed like a glacial age. Hell, he hadn’t had someone else do it for nearly as long. The look on Arthur’s face while Merlin did was nearly enough to end it right there. Arthur was fascinated. He met Merlin’s eyes for a moment before he glanced down and Merlin felt Arthur push a finger inside to join his. Merlin groaned and withdrew his fingers, letting Arthur take over in a slow exploration that was breaking Merlin apart.

Oh yes, Merlin thought dimly. That’s why this was a bad idea. The thought disappeared with the pad of Arthur’s fingers brushing against the spot that sent Merlin arching from the mattress. He wasn’t going to last long. Merlin caught at Arthur’s wrist, pulling his fingers out more quickly than he had prepared himself for and felt the absence keenly. “Condom,” he panted.

Arthur fumbled to comply, hands slippery against the foil. Merlin stared up at the ceiling, trying to blank his mind and step back from the edge until he felt Arthur’s hands around the back of his knees. Merlin shifted, lifting a leg to rest over Arthur’s shoulder and wrapping the other around the small of Arthur’s back, Arthur’s hands moved to support him. He could feel Arthur’s cock against his hole and he rocked down. Arthur groaned open-mouthed and hot against his shoulder.

The first breach left Merlin breathless. Arthur paused too long, and when he started moving, the thrusts were shallow and cautious and not nearly what Merlin wanted from him. On the next thrust, Merlin pushed back and Arthur let out a muffled grunt of surprise. He met Merlin’s eyes then and smirked. He hitched his hips, pulled out and slammed into Merlin hard enough to sheathe himself completely. After that, all bets were off and Merlin was left sprawled boneless under Arthur, his come plastered between them and starting to cool unpleasantly.

Merlin was still catching his breath when he felt Arthur’s fingers circling his hole once more, stroking maddeningly and pressing the tip of his middle finger in and out as he went. Merlin’s cock twitched in interest. Arthur couldn’t possibly be ready to go again, could he? Merlin thought, unconsciously pushing back against Arthur’s fingers. He felt like laughing a bit hysterically – maybe Arthur hadn’t been over estimating things. Merlin’s head lolled to the side, eying the mess of wrappers that had been scattered far afield. A part of him was looking forward to the attempt.

**::**

For the first time in well over a month, Merlin woke gradually, warm and filled with the strangest sensation of peace. His muscles felt like rubber, but he was alright with that – he couldn’t think of why he might need them anyhow. There was a strong arm draped loosely across his stomach and the sound of soft snoring from somewhere behind his neck.

Merlin winced a little as he shifted. It really had been far too long and Arthur had…

Oh gods, Arthur.

Merlin did his best not to jostle the man while he had a miniature breakdown, assessing his options.

There was something off with his vision that sent a jolt of fear down his spine, like the world was filtered in a soft golden light. He couldn’t – Merlin raised a hand, twisting it in the morning light. There was a glow. His hand was outlined in a bloody golden glow. So was Arthur’s.

Merlin swore softly.

He had just fucked Arthur Pendragon. Repeatedly. In his marriage bed. And now he was broken and they were bloody glowing like radioactive nightlights. 

Arthur snuffled, shifting when Merlin carefully lifted Arthur’s arm and inched his way across the sheets towards the edge of the queen-sized bed. He misjudged the distance and fell out.

Merlin lay sprawled on the soft cream carpet for a minute, worried that Arthur had woken and feeling a deep ache ripple across every inch of his skin. When Arthur’s soft snoring evened out once more, Merlin forced himself to roll to his knees, gritting his teeth at the pull of muscles. His eyes prickled and he clenched his fists.

He wanted to crawl back under Arthur’s arm and collapse in a boneless slumber but unlike Arthur, Merlin apparently wasn’t quite so skilled at turning off his conscience. Merlin pawed at the discarded clothes, following the trail to find his trousers before lurching to his feet. He waited until he was in the hall to tug them on haphazardly. Merlin tried without much luck to ignore the framed pictures of Gwen’s family life lining the walls, his hands feeling heavy and clumsy, shaking more than he could manage.

It took him a moment to remember where the stairs were and he snatched his shirt and shoes on his way to the front door. He paused at a mirror hanging by the closet, feeling half frantic that he looked like some sort of science experiment gone wrong – thankfully whatever had affected him had faded. His eyes, though – his eyes still had a moulting gold amongst his blue. It would pass. It had to pass. It was half-dressed that Merlin stumbled onto the first bus that pulled up, earning him a raised eyebrow from the driver and a low whistle from the few late night revellers turned early morning travellers grouped together at the back. Merlin took the nearest seat to the door – he didn’t think he’d be able to manage the stairs up to the second deck.

He had a shift at the café that started in – Merlin checked his mobile and groaned – an hour and a half. And he was on the wrong bus. If he wasn’t there to open, Gilli was going to be _pissed_ , especially since Merlin had all but begged to be given more morning shifts.

He had brought this upon himself though, and he was determined to march on.

**::**

Arthur was pissed.

His plan, hastily concocted somewhere between Merlin grinding down on his lap and Merlin spread wantonly across Arthur’s sheets, had been to skive off work and spend the rest of the day mapping his way across Merlin’s pale skin. His plan, that had been unpleasantly derailed by the simple fact that Merlin _wasn’t where Arthur had left him_. He wasn’t even in the house at all.

His socks were. And his boxers, kicked under the bed. 

Somewhere in London, Merlin was running about in nothing but his trousers and Arthur _wasn’t there._  
_  
_ Gwen sent him a text at eight and he had stabbed out a response, already at work and drowning himself in coffee trying to ignore the feel of Merlin that lingered across his skin.

He should have expected her to ring him, really.

“I told you to call Merlin,” Gwen’s voice said reproachfully when he relented and answered on the fourth ring.

“Your office opens in an hour,” Arthur reminded her dryly. She didn’t have time to be calling him, not if she wanted to enjoy her morning with Lance and not be late. The fact that she thought she had to at all was like another pin jabbing into his side. He could manage his own life – he bloody well had to now, didn’t he.

“Don’t bloody tell me when my office opens. Did you call him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur bit out.

“Why are you at work?” She demanded.

“Because I am a busy man and I have things to do.”

“Don’t be a prat. You know what I mean.”

Arthur let out a sharp huff, dragging his pen along an ever deepening gouge in his notepad. “Leave it, Gwen.”

“Did he say something?”

Arthur gave a snort. “No. He didn’t say anything.”

Merlin hadn’t said anything, not in the way that Gwen meant. Merlin had pressed words into Arthur’s skin and drowned them out with formless moans. At one point, he had very nearly said what Arthur desperately wanted to hear again and again and again, but before he had finished, Merlin’s arm had pressed itself against his mouth turning his words into something incomprehensible, no matter how Arthur tried to wring them from him. 

Nonetheless, at the time Arthur had thought that it might mean that Merlin was willing to give them a go, all the same.

There was silence on the other end of the line and Arthur very nearly hung up, even knowing that wouldn’t be the end of it if he did. He had finally found something _good_ in the shambles of his life, and Merlin couldn’t even give him _that_. What did the man want from him? Arthur had _waited._ He hadn’t pressured Merlin - he _hadn’t_. Merlin hadn’t even given Arthur a chance to talk about it before he had buggered off. Arthur was utter rubbish at admitting things, to himself or to an audience, but he would have damn well stood and fought for Merlin.

And honestly, maybe his anger was due in part to the fact that it _hurt_. It hurt that Merlin didn’t want to give Arthur the chance to work things through with him.

And it wasn’t as though Arthur hadn’t tried to call Merlin after he had pulled a runner. He’d called him twice and sent him three texts, each a bit shorter than the last. But Arthur wasn’t a _girl_ and he knew when he was being ignored. Merlin didn’t want to talk to him.

“Go on,” Arthur said into the silence. “I’ll have work to last me until the New Year at this rate.”

“Take care, Arthur,” Gwen said.

When she hung up, Arthur leant back in his chair and scrubbed his hands across his face before burying himself back in the deep of things.

When Agravaine waltzed into Arthur’s office at half nine, fifteen minutes later than Arthur had requested his presence, Arthur felt no compunction against what he had planned to do. Arthur was angry and Arthur was feeling reckless and damn if he didn’t just want to put this all to rest once and for all.

“My father valued punctuality in all areas of his life, Uncle,” he said casually as Agravaine headed over to his father’s credenza bar, wrestling down his impatience. He watched surreptitiously over a report as Agravaine hesitated briefly before aborting his motion and turning to face Arthur with his attempt at a guileless smile.

“Life throws surprises at us all, I’m afraid,” Agravaine said with a congenial toss of his hand. “Even Uther didn’t have the power to prevent busses breaking down during rush hour and blocking three lanes of traffic.

Arthur made a noncommittal noise, scanning the documents before him without really seeing them. He didn’t need to; he knew what they all said back to front. But Agravaine didn’t need to know that as Arthur fired his next shot. “Yes, imagine my surprise when I discovered that someone has been providing me with falsified documents regarding our subsidiary companies.”

Agravaine’s arms opened wide. “Whatever are you –“

“Or,” Arthur said before Agravaine could pick up speed. “That Camelot has been paying nine digit sums annually to a company that isn’t on the books. Anyone’s books, really.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“It had to go somewhere, didn’t it,” Arthur said, finally dropping the pretence of divided attention. It had to go somewhere. All the missing profits, all the inconsistencies in the budgets of other departments. Arthur had thought it was going into someone’s pocket, but Agravaine was smarter than that. It was filtering through Unicorn. And from what Pellinore had provided, Arthur knew that Unicorn protected its own. He was taking a massive risk in this confrontation, but right now the distraction was exactly what he needed.

“I found Unicorn, Agravaine,” Arthur said bluntly when it looked like Agravaine was going to start his protestations once more. “Now either you knew about these payments or it is indication of gross misconduct in the performance of your position, either of which in the eyes of the law is suitable grounds for dismissal, at the very least.”

**::**

The thing Merlin did not expect to see three hours into his shift after his uncomfortable walk of shame was Guinevere Pendragon striding into Gilli’s cafe as if she did it every day. Merlin watched wide eyed as she smiled at Gilli and ordered a large latte from George, complimenting him on the perfect leaf he poured out of foam. 

“Merlin? Merlin Emrys,” Gwen turned her warm smile on him and tucked a tenner in the tip jar by the till. “Just the man I wanted to see!”

Merlin shot a frantic look at Gilli and Gilli, the traitor, shot him two thumbs up behind Gwen’s back and mouthed ‘ _well done, Tiger’_. He looked back at Gwen and tried to determine what she knew, why she wanted to see him and how likely it was that he’d escape this encounter in one piece.

 _Please don’t let her have found my pants please don’t let her have found my pants please,_ ran through his head loud enough that he swore she knew that he hadn’t had time to buy a new pair before starting work, and yes he _was_ rather uncomfortable in nothing but his jeans at the moment, thanks for noticing.

“I’d like to take him out for lunch, if you don’t mind? He hasn’t had a break yet, has he?” Gwen asked Gilli sweetly, and Merlin felt his stomach turn into a block of ice. “Arthur speaks so highly of you, Merlin, I’d love the chance get to know you better.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Gilli said, ever the wholly unhelpful git. “Merlin is quite the charmer.”

“Gilli,” Merlin hissed.

“Go on, Merlin; you know it won’t pick up again until mid-afternoon. He’s all yours, Madame.”

There wasn’t even a token protest that came to mind as Gwen laced her arm through his and led him from the safety of the café and out along Chalk Farm Road. Gwen spoke of small things; how the area seemed to stay the same over the years, how tough it was for independent cafes with corporate giants lurking around every corner. Merlin nodded when it seemed appropriate and tried to focus on her words over the sensation that the arm through his was a shackle dragging him off to the stocks. Did she know? Did Arthur tell her, or did she just stumble onto their den of inequity. 

Gwen ordered for both of them from one of the vendors lining the Lock with much the same confidence as Arthur and Merlin found take-away containers pushed into his hands before long. This was far too familiar for Merlin’s liking. Arthur and Gwen were perfect for each other, Merlin thought dismally – he’d always known that. She even managed to find them a pair of moped-converted-seats by the canal that were always occupied, no matter the time of day. Merlin sank down onto one wondering just how he could salvage this.

“Arthur’s in a fairly foul mood this morning,” Gwen said, poking around her food with a wooden fork. Merlin nearly choked on his mouthful at the surprise.

“Is he?” Merlin asked, willing his voice to sound light. Politely inquisitive.

“Like a bear with a burr.” Gwen’s eyes were dark and serious. “Do you know what he does when he doesn’t know how to fix something?” Merlin frowned, shaking his head and stirring his curry. “He buries himself in work – takes on too much and wears himself thin.

“I told him to call you last night, Merlin.” Merlin’s eyes darted to hers and then away, guilt flooding through areas he thought were already saturated. “You’re good for him. He needs someone like you in his life, but now he’s worse off than he was.”

“I’m sorry your husband isn’t having a good morning,” Merlin said dully. “I’m not really…I don’t know what you want me to do about that, exactly. Maybe his issues are something you should take up with him.”

Gwen was scrutinising him closely. Whatever appetite Merlin had started with had vanished like the water running through the canal. Gwen was silent for a time, eating her curry with a thoughtful look on her face. Merlin wondered if it would be rude to excuse himself and leave her to finish. When he had decided to do just that, she said: “Will you talk to him? Just once, for me.”

“Guinevere…”

“Merlin, please. I’m worried about him.”

Merlin held her earnest gaze for a moment longer before he felt himself breaking apart. He nodded, small and shallow, and felt like the worst person in the entire universe when she turned her warm smile on him one last time.

**::**

_You, Arthur Pendragon, are a giant numpty._  
_  
_ Arthur frowned down at his mobile and reread Gwen’s latest text. He was standing in the foyer of Morgana’s Shoreditch office surrounded by large glossy images of airbrushed fashion models and architectural elements that to Arthur were complete wastes of perfectly functional space.

He had fired Agravaine. He had fired his uncle. Agravaine, for his part, had dropped his ridiculous genial mask and the chuckle he had over his termination had been dry and vaguely unnerving. Arthur couldn’t allow it to get to him, not now when he had called war against a faceless foe. What he needed to do now was shore up his defences and weather the storm. And hope that Pellinore would come through with something from his end.

And his defences, come hell or high water, included his sister.

Arthur sent back a single question mark as a twig-thin, slightly frazzled blond woman approached him with an orange clipboard and heels that looked like certifiable weapons and gave him a clear once over. “Adam Bohrs? You’re late. Ms Vivienne expects punctuality in her models - and the suit is really a bit more than she’s expecting. Have you done this before?”

“Yes. And she can tell me that herself,” Arthur said dryly. He didn’t have an appointment with Morgana. He’d got up and decided to call on her without much thought at all, really. If this woman was willing to take him through to her without one, who was Arthur to complain.

Arthur trailed after the woman, passing work stations piled high with fabric samples and page mocks, and in one notable occurrence, a large stuffed peacock.

Morgana’s office was in the corner of the building – three large old loft style windows set into old brick. Her desk was angled towards the door made of a thick glass slab propped up by angular metal legs, and there was a dark leather chaise lounge pushed up under one of the windows. Today, there was a line of topless men standing at attention before her workspace. Arthur schooled his face not to let out the bark of a laugh threatening to emerge.

“Ms Vivienne?” the blonde woman said briskly. “Adam Bohrs.”

Morgana twisted from where she was stood inspecting the men. “Bohrs,” she said in a level tone.

“I think I’ll keep the suit, if you don’t mind,” Arthur replied.

“Elaine, you can see these boys out. I’ll be in touch with their agents by the end of the week.”

The wall to the right of the door showcased large prints in simple 18x24 inch black frames and Arthur studied them as he waited impassively for the room to empty. They were good. For all his ribbing Morgana for her chosen profession, she knew her art. It was only years of training that stilled his expression when he saw the second to last image. Gwaine Knight’s photos had a fair representation on Morgana’s wall, but this one Arthur knew was the most recent. She had wasted no time in incorporating Merlin’s shoot into her acquisitions, as though she had staked her claim. As though she thought that Merlin would – _had_ \- agreed to her representation. If Arthur was angry at Merlin before, he was bordering on furious now. Merlin had no right to abandon him and run to Morgana.

That wasn’t right, Arthur forced himself to remember. He didn’t know anything about Merlin’s choices. Morgana was a manipulative cow at the best of times, and Merlin wasn’t why Arthur was there in the first place.

When they were finally alone Morgana crossed her arms and leaned back against her monstrosity of a desk. “What do you want?”

Arthur turned to face her and said curtly: “I can’t just drop by?”

“You never visit my offices,” she reminded him in the same tone.

“I needed to talk to you, in person,” Arthur allowed. He paced to the window, staring out at the street below. He had plenty of time to draft out what he wanted to say to Morgana on way over to her building, and he had a general idea of how he had wanted to approach the subject of their relationship – but in that moment he couldn’t rightly remember the words, and for that he blamed Merlin. “Uther wasn’t the man we thought he was, Morgana,” he said instead. “Or…there are things he’s left behind that are rather…disturbing.”

“Go on,” she said in a tone that gave nothing.

Arthur mulled over where to start before he said: “There’s a group called Unicorn. Uther was a part of it, and I think it may be related to his death. They’ve already got their claws in Camelot and it may be that sorting them out will get dangerous.” He added: “I want you to be careful.”

“You sure you don’t mean cloven hooves?”

“Morgana, I’m serious.”

“If this Unicorn is threatening Camelot, why would I -?”

“Because you’re my sister,” Arthur said bluntly. “Because you’re Uther’s daughter.”

Morgana’s mouth closed and her stare seemed to pin Arthur in place.

“You’re…I know Uther told you he didn’t know your mother. I know you tried to find her. You never did. Igraine was your mother and Uther had an affair with her. I…it’s complicated.” He and Morgana didn’t have these sorts of conversations – not important ones. Over the past year, the most significant conversation the two of them had, had been the first day Uther had spent unconscious. He and Morgana had stood shoulder to shoulder and she had simply said ‘ _I’m worried.’_ Arthur hadn’t responded and Morgana hadn’t said anything more for the rest of the night.

“You have something to back that up?”

“Yes.” Arthur steeled himself, crossing his arms and holding his own. Merlin’s fey eyes were staring at him out of the corner of his eye and Arthur was getting irritable under their scrutiny. “Morgana, I know we’ve never really been close, but we’ve always been family, even before blood was involved.”

Morgana didn’t say anything for a long while and Arthur waited, not certain what he expected from her. Some confirmation, maybe. Confirmation that she understood what Arthur meant, that despite Uther they were family, first and foremost.

“You’ll understand that this is quite a bit to take in,” Morgana said slowly. She uncrossed her arms and pushed off from her desk, moving about with a briskness to her that was a step closer to normal. “You’re determined to take on this shadow organization then? Even knowing they may have killed your father.”

“That’s not a certainty,” Arthur said with more confidence than he felt. The more he thought about it, the more the evidence seemed to imply that was exactly what had happened. His father had been _getting better._ Arthur’s mobile alert went off and he ignored it. “Agravaine was somehow tied to it. The police are looking into it as we speak.”

Morgana straightened, hands bracing on the desk between them. “What did you do, Arthur?”

“There were sufficient grounds for dismissal. I guarantee you that I was more lenient than Uther would have been in my place,” Arthur said tersely. Morgana said nothing, sliding into her chair and frowning slightly at the centre of her desk. Arthur took the moment to check his phone.

 _When were you going to tell him about the divorce?_  
  
“I have to go,” Arthur said. Morgana was bound to do whatever she felt she needed to do regardless of his warnings, but at least he had tried. At least she knew now. Maybe once some time had passed, they would be able to start rebuilding themselves as a family once more.

When he left, he left feeling like he should have said something more though he didn’t know just what more he could have said.

When his mobile pinged with Merlin’s number while he was hailing a cab, Arthur wondered just what the hell Gwen had done. The message, when Arthur brought himself to read it was the most ambiguous and nerve wracking in the history of messages.

_We need to talk.  
_

**::**

The door to Merlin’s flat opened just wide enough for Arthur to see Merlin’s face, and Arthur levelled a frown at him, crossing his arms and staring hard. Arthur hadn’t gone directly there. In fact, it had taken him a good five hours before he realised that putting this off was a distraction he didn’t need. And if he was honest, putting it off wasn’t what he wanted in the first place. What he wanted was a chance to make Merlin listen for once.

“You texted _me_ ,” Arthur reminded him when it became apparent Merlin wasn’t going to open the door any wider.

“Guinevere wanted me to talk to you,” Merlin said crisply through the crack.

Arthur opened his arms wide, gesturing to the hallway around him. “Are we going to do this here?”

There was a small wince that crossed Merlin’s face, but he shifted, letting Arthur push open the door to the flat and follow him inside. Merlin stood awkwardly in the centre of his flat, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed into his jeans. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

This awkwardness, this simmering hurt that existed just beneath his skin – Arthur hated that it was there. He could still remember Merlin’s hands sliding around his shoulders, his broken voice asking Arthur for anything, for everything. Arthur wanted that again. He wanted that feeling of being complete with Merlin tucked up against him, spent and exhausted and more open and free than he had ever felt before. Arthur pushed the feel of Merlin’s breath against his skin out of his head and focused on the dirty sneakers shifting on the floor. He was supposed to still be angry at Merlin.

Gwen had sent Arthur a message letting him know in no uncertain terms that he and Merlin had to talk through whatever issues they were having, and Arthur knew from experience that you didn’t say no to Guinevere. It didn’t mean he liked it any better than Merlin. But it did mean that he was willing to use it to his advantage to at least get an answer out of the man.

“You didn’t answer my messages,” Arthur said, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the armchair shoved into the corner.

“I didn’t have anything to say,” Merlin replied.

“Could have said ‘sorry, Arthur, I’m a clot who couldn’t be arsed to face you in the morning.’” Arthur retorted. 

“That night was a mistake,” Merlin said fiercely and Arthur shoved aside the hurt that blossomed in his chest.

“You were there, same as I, _Mer_ lin, sneaking out doesn’t change that,” Arthur sniped. “You started it, you kissed me, and _you_ pushed for more. You don’t get blame me now for taking what you offered.”

“What are you even _like_ , Arthur?” Merlin said angrily. “Who do you think I _am_?”

“Merlin –“

“ _You have a wife_. A _wife_. I don’t care if you’re confused; if you’re so far in the closet you need a torch and canary.”

“ _That’s_ why you’re saying no?” Arthur choked out a nervous laugh. “God, she was right.”

Merlin shot him an incredulous look. “I care about Gwen, Arthur. Like it or not, she’s a good person, and if you think for one _moment_ I would just roll over and _let you_ betray her, then clearly we don’t know each other very well at all. You should leave now.” He brushed past Arthur, snatching Arthur’s jacket.

“Merlin,” Arthur began and Merlin thrust an arm out with the jacket clutched in the air between them. Gwen was right. When had she ever _not_ been right, Arthur thought dimly. He wasn’t angry anymore. Tired, yes, a bit relieved. Merlin hadn’t run because he regretted Arthur, he’d run because of his bloody misplaced morals and because Arthur was an idiot.

“ _Now_. Before you ruin something you can’t fix.”

Arthur swallowed, steadying himself as he ignored Merlin’s arm. If he could make Merlin listen, they might still have a chance. "Gwen is my best friend, and I care for her like a sister. But we were never in love with each other, Merlin. We thought we could fall in love, maybe. We knew we cared about each other, and based our marriage on that hope. We both knew what we were getting into. It's just that…we can't stay married anymore."

“I can see why –“

“You don’t. I know you don’t. She knows I’m here; I’ve never lied to her about my intentions towards you from the moment I knew what they were, and I’ve never lied to you about them either. Do you know where she is now? She’s with the man she should have married, before he died and came back to us. She’s with the man she loves. Why can’t I be?”

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was like steel and Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes. He let himself sink into the overstuffed armchair. If Merlin wanted to throw him out, he would damn well have to work at it – at least until Arthur knew Merlin had actually _heard_ what he needed to say.

“I signed the divorce papers shortly after the funeral.” 

“You’re getting a divorce,” Merlin asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“You could have bloody well _told_ me that before we –“

“In what time?” Arthur snorted. “It didn’t come up!”

“’How about some torte, Merlin? By the way, I’m getting a divorce! Might have worked!”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting a divorce, Merlin. Gwen and I agreed, and she knew you would be there that night, not that I planned for _that_ to happen. And yes, they’ll take a bit longer to be processed, but if you need documents signed in triplicate and stamped by the crown judge for you to consider starting a relationship with me, I’ll wait. I’ll wait, Merlin. You just promise me you will too.”

“You’re serious.” 

Arthur dropped his hands, levelling a bland stare at Merlin. Merlin stared back. 

“This doesn’t…” Merlin seemed to reconsider his words for a moment, sinking onto the arm of the chair next to Arthur. 

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted before Merlin could finish whatever ridiculous thought he was stumbling over. “I’m not good at this,” he said, waving a hand between the two of them. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be good at this. But I want to try, if you’ll let me.”

He watched Merlin swallow, waiting with more nerves than he ever remembered having and doing his damnedest not to let it show – not to pressure Merlin’s choice, much as he wanted to. Whatever chance they had, it had to be Merlin’s choice now. Arthur had already made his.

“…Yeah,” Merlin said softly. His eyes were trained on the rug, the hand Arthur could see clutched loosely beside Merlin’s knee. “Yeah. I’d like to try. But not tonight. I think we’ve both…”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed.

Merlin was staring at him then and Arthur let him. Arthur held still as Merlin reached out to fist Arthur’s shirt, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss against Arthur’s lips.

**::**

“This is a phenomenally bad idea,” Merlin said in a low voice from his seat on the couch. He still didn’t know how he’d ended up convinced into having a family dinner with Arthur and Gwen and Lance. Gwen had told him in no uncertain terms that as a guest it was his task to sit comfortably with wine in hand as she finished up, and Arthur had been conscripted into carrying plates and testing dishes as they went. Merlin had arrived exactly five minutes before he was told to arrive, which to Gwen was exactly an hour and five minutes before she had expected anyone – and being Gwen, she was entirely too nice about the whole thing. Lance, apparently being well aware of such things was conveniently running late.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Merlin asked as Gwen came to check on him. She reached out and mussed up the hair he had carefully combed down with a slight frown on her face. His hair wasn’t that bad, he groused to himself. Arthur had…no, now that he thought about it, Arthur had let out an amused little huff, and dragged Merlin into the house without saying a word when he’d opened the door.

“Knew what?” Gwen cocked her head, and Merlin unconsciously scratched his fringe. She nodded.

“When you abducted me –“

“What is with you and comparing feeding you to abduction?” Gwen said with a laugh. Arthur poked his head around the door frame, shooting Merlin a wide grin before disappearing from view.

“He told you – not important – you knew when you _abducted_ me that I thought –“

The knock at the door interrupted him. Gwen gave him a small smile and shouted, “Arthur? Would you mind?”

“Arthur and I don’t hide things from each other,” Gwen said in a soft voice. “Not big things. Not things that affect each other. I didn’t know that he hadn’t cleared things up with you, but then I did know that Arthur sometimes forgets social details.”

“Social details,” Merlin said dryly. 

Gwen looked about to respond when they noticed Arthur entered the living space with a dazed expression on his face and a sheaf of papers in his hands. “Arthur?”

“I’ve just been served legal notice,” Arthur said blankly. “Morgana is contesting Uther’s will.”

**::**

“She’s trying to take everything,” Arthur said in stunned disbelief. The stark lines of ink across the papers blurred and shifted in his sight. “She’s going to take everything.”

“Arthur,” Gwen said as she put a hand on Arthur’s arm. Arthur didn’t even register as his grip loosened, sending the documents to the floor. Merlin collected them silently. “She can’t. She can’t take everything. Your father’s estate is yours, his will was –“

“She can,” Merlin said quietly. “Morgana is Uther’s firstborn child. Out of wedlock, but legitimate firstborn when he married her mother, Igraine Vivienne. According to this, Uther left most of his will to his firstborn child which he named as Arthur – he only gave specifics with regard to Morgana Vivienne. A good lawyer can spin that. Arthur _sit down._ ”

Arthur responded on autopilot. It was only thanks to Gwen that he was steered onto the couch and didn’t end up in a pile on the floor. He had gone to Morgana to keep her safe, to let her know what was happening and she had come back at him like _this_. “I told her. I wanted her to know.”

Gwen’s arms were around Arthur then, holding him close, as she scowled up at Merlin.

Merlin shot Gwen an exasperated look. “ _What?_ Lying to him isn’t helpful. At all. He needs to have a lawyer, and he needs to fight this out in court if the woman won’t settle out of it.”

“He has a lawyer,” Gwen said with a bit of a snap. Merlin ignored that, focusing on where Arthur was staring hard at nothing and wondering with no small amount of concern if Arthur was the sort to hyperventilate.

“Morgana has Morgause,” Arthur said in a thin voice. Merlin didn’t know who that was, but whoever she was, Arthur clearly knew his own legal counsel wasn’t much of a match. 

“Then you’re going to have to find a better champion,” Merlin said firmly.

Arthur was silent, running through his options and second guessing things the moment he had decided on them. Distantly, he was aware of Merlin and Gwen having a discussion in low voices. There was a hand on his shoulder and Arthur glanced down at it blankly.

“I’ll be back in a moment, Arthur,” Merlin said slowly. “Gwen’s just making a few calls. We can get this sorted.”

Merlin levelled a look at him before adding, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“What do you take me for, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur managed to drawl.

Merlin didn’t move, waiting on Arthur. Arthur relented and nodded, letting himself fall backwards, head resting on the back of the couch, hands scrubbing his face as Merlin disappeared. His life had been easy, a year ago – back when he had no one to prove himself to but his father. That wasn’t true...Uther had always held Arthur to ridiculous standards and Arthur had held himself to higher ones, but it _had_ been…simpler.

He and Morgana had once spent at least one day a week out to lunch, then, allies in the siege of life. It hadn’t always been roses between them, but they had always known where the line was in the sand. This time, she hadn’t just crossed it, she and her lawyer of a once-cousin had danced a tango across it.

Arthur was angry. He needed to talk to her. They could sort this out – it wasn’t Morgana that was behind this, it was the damn insidious influence of Morgause. She was his _sister_. Family didn’t _do_ that to family. Before he could register if it was a good idea or not, he had pulled out his mobile and keyed in her number.

It didn’t take long.

“Morgana, what kind of shite are you trying to pull?” Arthur snapped when his sister – _his sister_ – picked up the phone.  
_  
__“What are you on about?”_

Arthur didn’t have the patience right then for Morgana’s usual evasiveness. “I’ve just been served your intentions to take _my father’s will to court._ Don’t you _dare_ play that game now.”

“ _You mean_ our _father’s will?”_ Morgana said calmly.

“Your demonic lawyer is suing for everything – was your own fortune not enough?”  
__  
_“Is she? I suppose she knows best, after all, I don’t pay her for nothing.”_  
  
“You don’t know shite about how to even _run_ Camelot!” Arthur snarled.

Arthur caught sight of Merlin in the doorway, the expression of exasperation and concern as Merlin said, “Arthur, what are you _doing_?”  
_  
__“Apparently neither do you.”_ Morgana’s voice filtered through the receiver just before Merlin tackled Arthur, wrestling the phone from his grip. 

Arthur fought Merlin; long after the phone had disconnected and been lost somewhere under the furniture, struggling against Merlin’s weight and surprisingly strong arms just to wear out his frustration and agitation. Merlin knew it too. Merlin twisted and pushed back against Arthur’s bursts of strength until Arthur fell quiet, panting in short huffs with Merlin pinned on the floor. 

“You’re rubbish at this,” Arthur said against Merlin’s neck. He could feel Merlin breathing hard beneath him, breath ghosting across his ear with each exhale.

“I don’t have 17 stone to throw about, now do I?” Merlin wheezed.

“Oi,” Arthur pinched Merlin’s side, grinning as Merlin bucked in surprise. “12 stone, at best.”

“12 very large stones.”

Arthur’s fingers launched a surprise attack on Merlin’s sides, revelling in the sensation of Merlin writhing under him. That is, until Merlin shifted far enough that Arthur’s thigh slipped between his legs and Arthur found that friction was a rather pleasant distraction from horsing around. Arthur let his hand slip beneath Merlin’s shirt. Merlin’s shoulders were arching from the ground and Arthur pressed an open mouthed kiss against his exposed neck while his fingers traced Merlin’s ribs. This was something he was allowed to do now, Arthur thought with a dizzying euphoria. Merlin was _his._

“Arthur –“ Merlin started to say but from Arthur’s experience, letting Merlin say anything was a terrible idea. The rest of whatever Merlin had been about to say disappeared into Arthur, cut off by Arthur’s mouth sealed tightly against Merlin’s. Arthur grinned into the kiss when he felt Merlin’s hands gripping the back of his neck, holding him fast.

“Mithian is catching a flight –“ Arthur felt Merlin freeze under his hands and Arthur drew back slowly, casting a glance at where Gwen had paused in the doorway. He ran his palm down Merlin’s side in a reassuring gesture and sat up.

“Sorry,” Gwen said. She didn’t look very apologetic, in fact, she looked like she was doing her best to hide a smirk. Arthur decided to make a point of asking her about Lance later, on principle.

“Oh god,” came Merlin’s small voice from beneath the hands covering his face.

Gwen met Arthur’s eyes with a questioning look and Arthur shrugged from his seat on Merlin. She rallied and said, “Mithian’s agreed to represent you – she’ll be here tomorrow.”

Merlin tried to push Arthur off him and Arthur batted away his hands. He let his head fall back to the carpet and said mournfully, “I’ve fallen in with a tyrant, haven’t I.”

“He’s very demanding,” Gwen agreed. Which was a bloody _lie_ , Arthur thought, he’d always let Gwen take the lead in their relationship. But Arthur could feel that Merlin hadn’t exactly flagged at the thought, and he wondered if a being manhandled by Arthur was something that Merlin actually enjoyed. Gwen shot Arthur a pointed look, tapping her watch.

Lance. Lance was coming over. Her smirk told him that she understood what he wanted, and Arthur accepted the gift of giving into his hunger and ignoring his problems for a few minutes. God, he loved Gwen. Arthur hauled Merlin to his feet and dragged him from the living room.

He pressed Merlin up against the bedroom door the moment they passed through, Merlin objecting the whole way. Arthur found it strangely endearing.

“Gwen’s _right there_ ,” Merlin said the moment Arthur relinquished his mouth, which Arthur ignored. Arthur’s concentration was on his hands that were busy unbuckling Merlin’s belt and unhooking the button of his trousers, stripping open the zipper. Merlin was wearing a horrible t-shirt over a long-sleeved shirt and Arthur determined that he would have to teach Merlin that was too many layers. He settled for shoving Merlin’s trousers, pants and all, down past his hips. Merlin rallied admirably and said, “ _Ar_ thur.”

His objections died, however, when Arthur knelt swiftly and ran a tongue along his cock. In fact, his objections seemed to have been replaced by a string of curses Merlin couldn’t quite articulate. Arthur took a moment to marvel at the tremor in Merlin’s hands where they pressed back against the door, and the flushed line of his neck. He nosed at Merlin’s hip, running his hands reassuring and firm along the backs of Merlin’s thighs. 

Arthur had never done this before. He’d thought about it often enough when he was younger, wondering just what it would be like in a way he assumed everyone had. He’d thought about it the few times Gwen had offered, running his fingers through her hair carefully and imagining what she must be tasting. And now here Merlin was, pinned and panting, just waiting for Arthur to finish him.

Merlin gasped when Arthur took him in hand. He _whined_ when Arthur pressed his lips against Merlin’s cock, his hips hitching eagerly. Arthur wanted to savour the moment, but they didn’t have time. 

His first attempt, he realised through watering eyes was a tad too ambitious, but he soldiered on, bringing a hand to bear and letting the sounds Merlin was making be his guide. It was sloppy and it was wet but Merlin didn’t look like he was in a position to care and Arthur was too focused on trying to figure out how his own zipper worked to give a toss about anything else. Merlin couldn’t help the thrusts he was making. Feeling slightly more confident, and needing both his hands to wrestle open his pants, Arthur did his best to relax and let Merlin have his way. Merlin didn’t last more than a few thrusts and despite the frantic motion of Merlin’s hand, it wasn’t nearly enough warning for Arthur. 

He pulled back, choking a bit at the unexpected release. Arthur ignored Merlin’s _‘Oh god, I’m sorry, I-‘_ , pressing his face against Merlin’s hip and stripping himself off in what was one of the quickest wanks he had ever had, the taste of Merlin still bitter against his tongue. Merlin was pulling at Arthur’s shirt, and once Arthur had enough of his wits about him to control his limbs, he got to his feet, leaning heavily against Merlin’s warm body.

“You insufferable man,” Merlin breathed against Arthur’s ear and Arthur retorted by pressing a kiss against Merlin’s jaw. “This isn’t a solution.”

Arthur nipped tiredly at Merlin’s ear. “Of course it is,” he lied. “And a far better one than most.”

Merlin didn’t argue that. He lifted his arms and dug them into Arthur’s shirt and for an all too brief moment, nothing else mattered.

The moment was shattered a bit when Arthur’s grip shifted, his shoulders tensing as though bracing for something and holding Merlin tight in place. “Arthur?” Merlin asked cautiously.

“Your eyes…” Arthur trailed off, his own eyes flickering between Merlin’s. 

“What?”

“Your eyes were gold.” The crease between Arthur eyes was more pronounced than ever and Merlin felt a fluttering panic in his gut. Arthur took a hesitant step backwards and Merlin felt a little bit of himself splinter.

Merlin closed his eyes, cursing inwardly and letting his head thud back against the wooden door.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said softly. He wasn’t sure why, really; it wasn’t as though he could help what he was. And sooner or later Arthur was bound to find out there was more to Merlin than he let on. And he really, really wished his trousers weren’t around his ankles for this.

“What?” Arthur shook his head, grabbing Merlin’s face in his hands and twisting it back and forth as though that might help him divine the trick behind it all. Merlin endured it for a moment before he batted Arthur’s hands away. He shot down and wrestled his trousers back into place with fumbling hands.

“I can’t help it. I was born with it, and I can’t help it and you can stop staring at me like some sort of freak show anytime now.”

Gwen’s muffled voice called from beyond the door and Merlin startled, shooting Arthur a worried look.

Arthur closed his mouth and his eyes darted from Merlin’s to the door and back. “Born with what?”

Merlin wanted to lie, but his frazzled brain couldn’t think of anything at all that could explain this away. “Magic,” he said quietly. The confused shock that had been on Arthur’s face fell away at Merlin’s words and he looked to be almost on the verge of anger now. So Merlin did the only thing he could think of and opened his palm, holding a flame in the space between them.

Arthur’s immediate reaction was to smother it with his own hands and Merlin watched Arthur’s panic turn to confusion turn to an unreadable expression as Arthur’s hands cupped Merlin’s and the illusion of fire continued to dance and burn.

“You have…magic. That’s not even…” Arthur looked like he didn’t quite know what to make of that, and Merlin felt that was fair enough. As much as it was a part of him, and as much as he wanted to believe that it didn’t matter to Arthur, this hidden part of Merlin…there was a reason his mother had asked him to keep quiet. “Why didn’t you…”

Merlin watched Arthur swallow back his words. He let the illusion drop and tried not to let the fact that Arthur still hadn’t let go of his hand shoot his hopes higher. “Didn’t really come up, did it,” he said, immediately regretting the echo of another argument.

Arthur’s eyes shifted to the door again. He gave Merlin a long look and simply said: “Don’t run this time.”

The swell of fear and hope that flooded through Merlin’s veins at those words made him dizzy. He didn’t trust his voice, so he gave Arthur a curt nod.

Dinner, when they finally got around to it was one of the most awkward that Merlin could ever remember – and that included the steak and potatoes after his mum had walked in on him getting friendly with a box of tissues. Gwen did her best to keep up a light conversation and Lance, confused but willing to let her take the lead, filled in the gaps. Merlin’s answers were monosyllable when he could concentrate enough to register they were waiting on him. If Arthur hadn’t kept shooting him unreadable looks out of the corner of his eye, he might have been able to concentrate better.

It was small consolation that the concerned glances from Lance and Gwen were concentrated on Arthur’s silence. Merlin didn’t think he’d be able to stand being the centre of everyone’s attention just right then – being the centre of Arthur’s was nerve-wracking enough.

Arthur, for his part, could barely taste the roast chicken on his plate. He kept seeing Merlin’s blue eyes flash gold and holding fire that wouldn’t burn. He kept thinking - if Merlin could do that, what else could he do? Could he move things with is mind? Could he influence the people around him? Could he vanish and reappear at whim?

Could he affect security footage?

Did Arthur honestly believe that even if Merlin could, he would?

There were only two options. Either Merlin was exactly who Arthur thought he was with a strange and perplexing skill set, or Arthur never really knew Merlin at all.

Even with the pale, unhappy expression on Merlin’s face throughout supper, it had taken Arthur most of the meal before he had sorted it all out and come to settle on where he stood. Arthur wasn’t good at reacting to surprises. Having the buffer of Lance and Gwen to carry the four of them through gave Arthur the space he desperately needed to think.

Even if Arthur was angry at something being kept from him, or confused but the impossibility of it all - he fact of the matter was, Arthur trusted Merlin. He trusted Merlin, and despite the upheavals, he continued to trust Merlin. Morgana’s latest treachery wasn’t nearly as important in that moment as that one fact.

Gwen and Lance had disappeared to fetch the desserts and Arthur gave himself a moment to openly study Merlin. Merlin was hunched in on himself, his eyes trained on the tablecloth, his hands fumbling with a few stray crumbs that had gotten left behind.

Arthur sighed. He reached across the gulf between them and rested a hand on the back of Merlin’s neck, giving him a soft squeeze before letting his fingers slip away.

**::**

“And you said other people have it too,” Arthur repeated for what had to be the third time. Gwen and Lance had long since made their goodbyes and retreated off to Lance’s flat for the night and finally Arthur had his chance to work through aloud everything he had been mulling over since Merlin’s revelation.

“ _Yes_ , Arthur,” Merlin said, a tinge of exasperation colouring his voice. “I mean, Gaius says I’m a special case –“

“I don’t doubt _that._ ”

“- but with varying strengths, yes, there are others,” Merlin finished with a glare.

Arthur nodded to himself. After he had bullied Merlin into staying the night, he had begun filling in the gaps in his understanding and Merlin had reluctantly obliged.

Pellinore had said that Owain had been hit by something they couldn’t identify - that over the years, Pellinore had encountered things he couldn’t explain, things that seemed impossible. If magic was real – and clearly it was, unless Arthur’s mental functions had somehow been altered – then there was a high likelihood that magic had been the weapon. But magic was such a broad concept. If that night they had been trying to get to Uther, why had they killed Owain? They could have just wriggled their fingers and done the deed. If the phantom sorcerer could do that, what was keeping any of them safe?

“Could you throw me across the room?” Arthur asked suddenly.

“What?” Merlin squawked.

“With your…” Arthur made gestures through the air. “With your magic. Right now.”

“ _No_ ,” Merlin said empathetically. “I mean, technically, yes, but _no_.”

“How?”

“What do you mean?”

Arthur stood from the sofa they had ensconced themselves in and started pacing. “Right now, if I came at you, how would you repel me?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said with wide eyes. “I mean, I don’t know that I would.”

“You’d let me _attack you_?” Arthur asked incredulously. From the awkward shifting in his seat, Arthur reasoned that the answer probably was yes, Merlin probably wouldn’t think to defend himself, at least not with magic. A part of Arthur bubbled up in anger at that thought, but he pushed it aside and vowed to work on that later; if Arthur had his say, Merlin would be defending himself with any and all tools in his arsenal. He tried again, “Think, Merlin. What could you do?”

“I don’t…” Merlin scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I mean, I could try to pick you up, move you, but you’re heavy – heavier than a glass or a set of keys. I would need power and concentration and know what I was going to do with you. It would be _impractical_! I would probably just…” Merlin’s hands froze. “I would probably just push you away.”

“With magic?” Arthur waited.

“There’s…there’s a way of throwing your voice – manifesting your magic into an expulsion like sound...” Merlin said. “I’ve only done it once, on instinct though. Oh my god.”

“What?”

“This is about Owain. It’s not about my magic at all, it’s about Owain Noble.” Merlin had dropped his hands and was staring openly at Arthur now. “I didn’t do it, Arthur.”

“What?” Arthur repeated. “I never suggested you did. Pellinore’s team still doesn’t have an answer, though. If there’s someone running about with _magic_ and a vendetta on top of Morgana’s little lawsuit…” Arthur trailed off when he noticed Merlin had gone rigid in his seat. There was something that Merlin wasn’t telling him. “Do you know someone who fits that description?”

“I don’t know if you want me to say it,” was Merlin’s response and Arthur felt an answering stone settle in his stomach. There was nothing hesitant about Merlin’s posture – it was of a man with utter conviction, just waiting for his audience to understand that. 

His audience of one.

Merlin did know something, and of that something, he was convinced.

Whatever Merlin had to say, was compelled to say – Arthur would have to accept it. Giving Merlin the nod to continue felt suddenly like the bravest thing Arthur ever had to do.

“Morgana has magic,” Merlin said without preamble. Arthur kept his gaze level, crushing his reactions into a painful tangled lodged in his chest. He wanted to argue that; that he would have known, that she was his sister, that she would never betray them like that. But she would. She had already proved that. He let Merlin continue uninterrupted. “She was there the night Owain Noble died. She was there the night before…” Merlin’s brow knit, studying Arthur for a moment. “She was there the night before your father died. Arthur –“

“I know.” Arthur felt the bile ebbing at the back of his throat. If he believed Merlin then…It hurt. Of _course_ it hurt. Morgana seemed to be the root of everything that was crashing and burning in his life, and she and Agravaine were the only family he had left. He had already been betrayed by Agravaine – losing Morgana was like a nail in his coffin. Thinking that she was also a murderer…Arthur ran his fingers roughly through his hair, tangling his fingers in the mess he had made of it and tugging hard, head bowed.

“Arthur –“

“So she has magic. She might very well be behind a number of things. I call in Pellinore, then what?” Arthur shot Merlin a plaintive look. He didn’t have a solution. He couldn’t see his way out of this. If it was true, Morgana was waging war against everything Arthur was, and he couldn’t see how to stop her. “If she has magic, a jail won’t hold her. No jury in the land would convict her, not without solid evidence trumping conjecture and mad accusations of witchcraft. And that’s if she even stuck around long enough to be placed in custody in the first place. So what do I _do_ , Merlin?”

The staring contest they had then was probably a breaking point, Arthur would think later. It was the moment Merlin pushed Arthur, pleading with Arthur to stand and fight, be the man he had constructed in his mind, Arthur full of strength and unwavering confidence; the moment Arthur bared himself and pushed right back, admitting he was lost in woods and fading fast, in desperate need of a guiding light. The moment Merlin realised Arthur was human.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said softly, the first to break away and cast his eyes across the organized chaos of Arthur’s room. There was something building like steel in Merlin; something even Arthur could see in the dim evening light.

It wasn’t the answer Arthur needed, but Arthur knew it was unfair to foist this on Merlin. It wasn’t Merlin’s responsibility to look after Arthur – if anything, Arthur needed to protect Merlin from being dragged into this. Arthur clenched his eyes shut, immersing himself in the darkness for a blessed moment of nothingness. He needed to be more than just human. He needed to protect Merlin.

He got to his feet and squared his shoulders.

“I’ll take care of it,” Arthur said. He didn’t know how yet, or if it was even possible, but he couldn’t let Merlin do anything idiotic either – and he _would_ , Arthur knew that just by looking at him. “I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this. If…” Arthur forced himself to continue, holding Merlin’s eyes, “If you want to walk away, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I hope you realise that’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin said with a strange mix of anger and irritation making him look wild and strangely appealing. 

Arthur still had the churning of doubt in his stomach, but he cracked a weak smirk saying, “I’m glad you’re here with me, Merlin.”

**::**

As much as Merlin wanted to stay by Arthur’s side, Arthur had spent the last two days cloistered away with a slim, beautiful, dark haired woman that frankly made everyone around her feel both valued and inadequate all at once. In a strange way, she reminded Merlin a bit of Arthur. Arthur had raised a pointed finger at Merlin and told him strictly to keep himself out of trouble, but Arthur could only build defences against what he knew how to counter – it fell to Merlin to sort out everything else.

Morgana’s office was just as intimidating as Merlin expected it would be. The building itself was a five story brick building in Shoreditch, with massive square-panelled windows and a coffee shop tucked on the first floor. He didn’t know where her office was in the building, exactly, but he assumed he’d find his way or ask for directions when he got lost. Granted, it wasn’t a very gunslinger way of going about things, but then Merlin had never really been the sort to storm in somewhere guns blazing. 

He needn’t have worried. From his scrutiny of the building directory panel, Courtier Publications took up only the top two levels, and someone had to know where Morgana would be there. Even that problem was solved when Morgana herself stepped into the lift on the fourth level, stilettoes clicking briskly against the stone tiled floor. She was rooting about in her purse for something but when she caught sight of him she paused.

“Emrys?” Morgana glanced at the doors as they closed as if judging an escape route.

Merlin had this planned; sketchy, but a general idea at least. Or he _did_ before he was face to face with her. Instead of skilfully building up to the question, Merlin blurted: “Did Owain get in your way?”

Morgana took one good look at him jabbed the button for the fifth level, her mouth set in a thin line. “I don’t know what you’re on about, Emrys, but you would do well not to make a spectacle in public,” Morgana said primly.

“A _spectacle_?”

Morgana shot him a gauging look. “You’re lucky I’m not having security escort you out. For the time, you will indulge me and save your unfounded accusations for the relative privacy of my office.”

The glare Merlin returned was simmering defiant, but he held his tongue. When they reached her floor, she ignored him, striding past the reception as Merlin hastened to stick by her. All those months ago, Merlin would never have dreamed that one day he would be demanding answers from the woman everyone in the Pendragon estate spoke of in hushed voices and cautionary tales. But then, nothing was the same as it was now.

“You made sure I wouldn’t be there that night,” Merlin accused when the door clicked shut behind them. Morgana dumped her purse on a dark settee and turned to face him, hands on her hips. 

“You should be grateful I did,” Morgana snapped back. She wasn’t denying it, then. 

“If I had been there, Owain would still be alive,” Merlin said flatly.

“Yes,” Morgana agreed a little too easily. “And he would have found you with Uther’s blood on your hands that night.”

Merlin faltered. His anger bubbled forward. “I was healing him. What are you –“

“The line between healing and harming is a fine one, isn’t it Merlin?” Morgana said, studying him. Merlin remembered the coil of darkness snaking through his veins, the greasy _not right_ feeling that haunted him even now. But he wouldn’t have – he had learned his lesson about pushing too far. “There are two paths that lie side by side – a little nudge in one direction and suddenly…”

“I would never have harmed Arthur’s father,” Merlin said firmly. “You wanted him dead. You kept me away from the house. Their deaths are on your hands.”

“Uther is _my father_ , Merlin.” Morgana levelled him with a gimlet stare. “He has done terrible things, and _yes,_ I was gathering evidence against him. I wanted him to be held accountable for the things he has done – I _didn’t want him dead.”_  
_  
__“_ I know you have magic, Morgana,” Merlin shot back. “Magic killed Owain, and magic killed Uther.”

Morgana gaped at him for the briefest of moments before something shifted in her eyes. “You have it too.” Merlin said nothing and she paced forward, leaning into his space. “Maybe you and I worked together, then?” 

“It’s not what it’s for,” Merlin said. He wondered how this conversation had gone wrong. He was supposed to be telling Morgana to stay away from Arthur – that Arthur was under his protection, or as much of his protection as he could be.

“Yes, I have magic,” Morgana admitted. “I have the Sight. I can see the future – in snatches, yes, and mutable as the sea, but enough. You say magic killed them both – I say it’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Well, your Sight was wrong. You were wrong.”

“I wasn’t.” Morgana stepped back, moving around her desk and idly shifting through some photos stacked in the corner. “I didn’t know how at the time, but I _did_ see you kill him. I set up your engagement with Gwaine. I stayed the night. I asked Owain to check in on my father when his schedule allowed it. The next morning, my father was alive and Owain was dead.”

“If that were true, why didn’t you tell Leon,” Merlin asked. He fought down the irritation that rose at Morgana’s nonchalance – she was doing it exactly to get on his nerves, he knew, and he refused to rise to the bait. “Why not tell Arthur, tell the police Uther was in danger?” 

“Tell Leon that I had a dream my ailing father was murdered? Tell Arthur that I thought the idiotic nurse he had started to fancy was destined to kill his father? Tell the police that the murder weapon was magic? Don’t be a fool. There was a charm – a necklace of sorts that had been cursed. Someone had placed it around Uther’s neck while he slept. I thought that was it; I destroyed it before you returned and the visions abated.”

Merlin didn’t believe her. It was too simple, too perfect an excuse that Morgana wasn’t on the wrong side of things. If she was trying to help, why turn around and start the inheritance case? “He still died.”

“Arthur did something,” Morgana scowled. “He did something, and it changed the stakes. They’re going to come for him – he’s digging around in things best left buried.”

“You know about Unicorn?”

There was a frown marring Morgana’s forehead and her eyes were a piercing intensity that bore through Merlin where he stood. “They are a very dangerous group, one that will tear Arthur apart without conscience.”

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me you care one whit what happens to Arthur,” Merlin all but snarled. “You went after his throat the minute his father died.”

“You seem to know so much – did you know that he fired Agravaine DuBois?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Morgana let out a dry laugh. “Agravaine has lived a small and petty life since Uther stripped him of his family – now Arthur has taken even that away from him. He’s breeding enemies like flies. 

“Unicorn wants to destroy everything Uther has built _,_ erase his legacy from the face of the earth. Arthur and I are part of that legacy. What do you think my dear little brother will do when he finds that out?” Morgana said incredulously. “He isn’t the sort to sit out of a fight, and he can’t win against them. He has no _idea_ what they are capable of. We can broker a deal though – Camelot, Uther’s pride and joy. They’ll leave us alone then, it will be over.”

“Camelot is everything to him,” Merlin replied. “If you take that from him…”

“If I take that from him, he can start over. He can go off and build his own empire.”

“It’s not your choice to make.”

“You’re in love with him,” Morgana said – and said so easily that Merlin was speechless as she continued. “You tell me you wouldn’t do anything in your power to keep him safe.”

“It’s not –“

“It’s exactly the same. You protect him in your way, I’ll do so in mine.” Morgana’s eyes darted to the mobile sitting on her desk, the screen bright with an alert. She cursed. “Where is Arthur now?”

“What?”

“You heard what I asked.”

“Yes, what I didn’t hear was a compelling argument for why I should tell you,” Merlin returned.

Morgana sent her mobile sliding across the desk to Merlin. “Where is Arthur?”

Merlin frowned down at the screen, eyes scanning across words he’d only ever seen in Gaius’ more esoteric volumes. And because life wasn’t like a movie, and Merlin had next to no experience with the shady not so nice side of society, he asked, “Is that a _hit order_?”

“Merlin. _Arthur_.”

“Why do you have _hit orders_ pinging to your phone?!” Merlin pushed the mobile back at her with enough force that she had to dart to catch it before it skittered off the desk. He fumbled for his own phone scrolling with shaking hands to find Arthur’s number.

“ _Merlin?”_ Arthur’s voice over the phone felt like permission for Merlin to breathe once more. Unfortunately, his brain to mouth filter hadn’t quite kicked in and he used that first relieved breath to say a rushed: “I love you.”

There was a pause on the other line. “ _Merlin, what’s going on?”_

“I need you to trust me, Arthur,” Merlin was already moving, ignoring the fact that Morgana looked ready to follow him. His eyes flashed golden and her office door slammed shut behind him, sealing itself in place. If she had magic, it wouldn’t hold her for long. Regardless of what she said, Merlin didn’t have time to come to a conclusion on whether he trusted her with Arthur’s safety. 

“ _You said that because you need me to trust you?”_

“No, I,” Merlin didn’t trust the lift and was rushing headlong down the fire stairs taking them three at a time. “I need you to trust me and stay where you are, and don’t answer to door for anyone - and I said it because I don’t ever want to regret not saying it,” Merlin said in what possibly was the clumsiest explanation ever in the history of the world. “Are you still with Mithian?”

“ _Merlin, are you in some sort of trouble?”_ There was a shuffle on the other end of the line and Merlin heard a muted ‘ _It’s Merlin, I don’t know.’_ “ _We’re still at home. If something’s happened –“_  
_  
_ “I’m getting a cab. _Stay there._ ” Merlin hung up before Arthur could argue.

The ride to Arthur’s flat felt like the longest trip in Merlin’s life, and that included a nine hour coach ride to Scotland when he was ten. He didn’t know how he had got caught up in all of this. It was just supposed to be a job to keep him in London. It was just a stupid, impossible crush on a man that would never look twice at him. When had it started to be about murder and conspiracy and magic? When had it spiralled so far out of control?

**::**

After spending hours reviewing Arthur’s standing and many more tracing precedence for Morgana’s claim, Arthur knew one thing for certain.

“I want to retain you once we win this,” Arthur said. Now he knew why Gwen refused to trust her organization with just any lawyer. Mithian was brilliant, with a sharp wit and a hunter’s focus. She was a force to behold.

“I’m already claimed – you’ll have to duke it out with Gwen when she gets here,” Mithian said easily, a hint of a smile on her lips. “It should provide ample entertainment over supper.”

“You volunteered to be her divorce lawyer, didn’t you?”

“I knew her first.”

“I meant after that,” Arthur said. He and Gwen had already agreed on terms and Arthur was happy to let Geoffrey oversee his side of things. From what he had uncovered regarding Uther, however…Arthur was worried that even if he managed to fend off Morgana, Camelot would still have to fight for its existence. Arthur wasn’t a fool. He fully intended to strip Camelot bare and rebuild it in his own image, transparent and strong, a model for every company to come. There was going to be a time when he would need to be surrounded by the best of the best – letting Mithian know she was one of them now was only good business.

Arthur’s mobile started buzzing, causing it to skitter and slide subtly across the coffee table. For a brief moment he entertained the thought that it might be Morgana calling, ready to apologise and start over. He hadn’t taken the call last time she had tried contacting him. He didn’t know if he would now.

He didn’t have to make that choice. Merlin’s name lighting up across his screen shouldn’t make him smile like a loon, but it did, and even Mithian’s amused expression couldn’t shift it.

“Merlin?” 

_“I love you.”_  
_  
_ For a moment Merlin’s words didn’t register, spoken quickly and really more an exhale than anything formed. A gamut of emotions filtered through Arthur’s brain until two shuffled to the fore; one, a warmth that made Arthur want Merlin beside him _right now_ and one a fear from the strange urgency in Merlin’s voice that shocked its way through his system.

“Merlin, what’s going on?” Arthur asked cautiously. 

_“I need you to trust me, Arthur.”_ Merlin said as if that was explanation enough.

“You said that because you need me to trust you?”  
__  
_“No, I… I need you to trust me and stay where you are, and don’t answer to door for anyone - and I said it because I don’t ever want to regret not saying it. Are you still with Mithian?”_  
  
“Merlin, are you in some sort of trouble?” Merlin had done something stupid, Arthur realised dimly, he just wished he knew what it was. Mithian was watching Arthur sharply and Arthur quickly covered the phone, saying quickly: “It’s Merlin, I don’t know,” in response to her quizzical expression. “We’re still at home. If something’s happened –“  
__  
_“I’m getting a cab._ Stay there _.”_  
  
Arthur stared blankly at his mobile. “He hung up on me.”

“Was that the Merlin that Gwen’s been telling me about?”

Arthur put the phone down. He was of half a mind to grab his coat and go find Merlin; the only thing that stopped him was that he didn’t know where Merlin _was_ and Merlin seemed to be on his way anyhow. “Yeah,” he responded slowly. “I don’t know what’s happened, but he seemed fairly spooked by it. He’s on his way over.”

“The more the merrier,” Mithian said lightly.

“I’m calling Gwen,” Arthur decided.

“She’s likely already on her way.” At Mithian’s words, Arthur’s fingers hesitated over Gwen’s number before hitting it anyhow. Whatever had gotten to Merlin was making worry creep down Arthur’s spine; giving his ex-wife the message to be cautious was the only option her could take. 

It was tense thirty-six minutes later that Arthur and Mithian shot to their feet, a cracking sound ringing through the London air.

“Sounded like a car backfiring…” Arthur said carefully.

“It sounded like a gunshot,” Mithian corrected, her warm voice unusually grim.

Arthur swallowed, his only thought: _Merlin._  
_  
___

_

**::**

_

__

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for ~~An all mighty thud~~](https://archiveofourown.org/works/941352) by [Dahlia-The Artist (Dahlia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dahlia/pseuds/Dahlia-The%20Artist)




End file.
